: HELENE 
GINGOLD 


Wl^'t^li^ditiudsi^iT.-t 


P.NOORDHOFF 
BOEKH-DITGEVER 
.   GRONINGEN 


rn 


Abelard  and  Helolse 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


THE  CHILLINGFIELD  CHRONICLES. 

A  CYCLE  OF  VERSE. 

FLOWERS  OF  THE  FIELD. 

DENYSE. 

HALF-A-DOZEN  TRANSGRESSIONS. 

SEVEN  STORIES. 

Etc.,  Etc. 


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Abelard  and  Heloise 


a  Sraaeb?  in  five  acts 


By 

Helene   Gingold 


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J  '      J       >        3        3 


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London 

Greening  &  Co.  Ltd 

1906 
[AI/  Rights  Reserved^ 


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TO 

HIS     MAJESTY 

KING    GEORGE 

OF     THE 

HELLENES 


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PREFATORY 

Musing  one  day  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  my  wander- 
ing footsteps  unconsciously  strayed  by  the  resting- 
place  of  Abelard  and  Heloise.  There,  in  that 
hallowed  spot,  rendered  beautiful  by  its  eloquence 
in  stone,  Death  has  lost  much  of  his  aspect  of 
sorrow  and  of  darkness.  There,  where  all  is  hushed 
in  solemn  silence,  broken  only  by  the  music  of 
the  summer  birds'  voices,  repose  the  ashes  of 
some  of  the  world's  greatest  and  fairest  lights  ; 
and,  though  centuries  have  passed,  surely  none 
were  more  famous  and  beautiful  than  the  learned 
Abelard  and  the  lovely  Heloise. 

Out  in  the  busy  life  beyond  the  confines  of  this 
God's  Acre,  kings  and  kingdoms  rise  and  fall, 
men  and  women  struggle  through  their  brief 
roles  and  pass  away  unnoticed  from  the  ranks  of 
life ;  but  the  mutability  of  existence  has  no  power 
here,  for  all  remains  unchanged  through  every 
vicissitude.  It  is  governed  by  a  tranquillity  so 
profound,  that  even  the  thrush's  gay  song  of 
Spring  seems  to  have  caught  the  infection  of 
peace,  and  chants  a  gentler  and  a  sadder  note. 


8  PREFATORY 

Dreaming  over  that  past  in  which  Abelard  and 
Heloise  were  the  principal  figures,  imagination 
conjured  up  to  me  their  sufferings  and  their 
affliction,  and,  above  all,  their  great  love,  which 
is  itself  S5monymous  with  sorrow.  Christ  was 
"  a  Man  of  many  sorrows,"  inasmuch  as  He  loved 
mightily.  "  Love,"  Swedenborg  says,  "  is  the 
life  of  man."  With  all  his  renown  as  a  scholar, 
the  name  of  Abelard  is  handed  down  to  posterity 
as  a  famous  lover  ;  and  Heloise,  fair  and  learned 
above  all  women,  is  celebrated  because  of  her 
passion. 

As  history  relates  it,  the  story  of  the  pair 
strikes  a  fuller,  deeper,  and  more  tragic  note 
than  that  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  The  latter  were 
but  boy  and  girl :  the  former  a  man  and  woman 
of  ambitions  and  striking  personality. 

I  am  conscious  that  many  abler  hands  than 
mine  could  have  limned  the  lovers  in  a  far  nobler 
fashion,  but  I  also  know  that,  with  all  its  varied 
errors  and  imperfections,  none  could  have  felt 
a  more  whole-hearted  enthusiasm  for  this  work 
than  I. 

HELENE  GINGOLD. 


Dramatis  Persons 

Abelard,  Professor  of  Logic,  Canon  of  Notre  Dame,  and  Doyen 
of  a  Newer  School  of  Thought. 

Fdlbert,  Archbishop  of  Paris,  guardian  and  uncle  of  Heloise. 

Philintus,  Friend,  sttident,  and  admirer  of  Abelard. 

Bishop   Anselm  {afterwards  Archbishop  of  Paris),   Professor  of 
antiquated  Tenets  and  Schools. 

Ai.BERic,^  Professors  and  satellites  of  Anselm  ;  opposed  to  the  ad- 
LOTULF,  J  vanced  viezvs  of  Abelard. 

Prince  Amadeus,  betrothed  to  Heloise. 
Friar  Bonhomme,  a  priest. 
King  of  France. 


Heloise,  an  orphan^  ward  and  niece  of  Fulberf. 
Agaton,  her  waiting-woman. 
Myrtila,  a  friend. 


1st,  2nd,  and  3rd  Citizens  ;  ist,  2nd,  and  3rd  Students. 

Attendants,  Priests,  Citizens,  Students,  Musicia;^s,  a  Singer,  Nuns, 
Sisters,  Courtiers,  and  Pages. 


Epoch        .         .         .         1 2th  Century. 
Place  .         .         Paris. 


Act  I 


Abelard  and  Heloise 

ACT  I 

Scene  i 

Evening.  A  street  in  Paris.  Archbishop 
Fulbert's  house,  an  imposing  building, 
stands  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  Other 
smaller  dwellings  adjoin :  these  are  gaily 
decorated  with  coloured  lanternSy  flags,  and 
hunting. 

(Enter  Three  Citizens.) 

First  at.     By'r  Lady  !  it  seems  as  though 
All  Paris  hath  run  mad  to-day. 

Second  Cit.     Is  it  not  her  usual  state  ? 

First  Cit.    Ay.    That  be  true  enow,  but,  friend, 
She  does  not  always  symbols  hang 
Out  o'  window  her  mania  to  proclaim, 
For  ev'ry  stranger  eye  to  ridicule. 
Prythee,  what  mean  these  flags  and  lamps  ? 

Third  Cit.     Hast  not  heard  the  news  ? 


14  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

f        r       C  ,  ft-  f  '     < 

r    '   t  f  (    '        'f,r  '        '  ' 

First  Cit.     What  news  ? 

Second  Cit.  Where  hast  been 

That  thou  know'st  not  the  learned  Abelard 
Hath  this  day  outmatched  professors  all 
From  the  globe's  four  quarters  hailing 
To  compete  with  him  in  logic  ? 

First  Cit.     Tell  me  then  of  Abelard,  for  I 
But  little  know  of  Paris  news, 
Seeing  but  an  hour  since  I  came 
From  Marseilles  ancient  port.     That  Abelard 
Is  learned,  I  have  heard  ;   but  'tis  no  reason 
Why  this  potent  city  should  be  deck'd 
As  though  a  conquering  hero  it  acclaimed. 

Second   Cit.     Conquering !     He   is  more    than 
conqueror. 
The  warrior's  path  is  that  of  ruin  and  death, 
While  Abelard's  is  one  of  life  and  hope, 
For  he  the  fruit  of  knowledge  ripe  hath  pluck' d, 
And  offers  it  to  thee  and  me  to  eat. 

Third  Cit.  Learning  sits  upon  his  brow 
As  lightly  and  becomingly  as  rosy  wreaths 
On  beauty's  forehead  borne. 

Second  Cit.      Paris  has  occasion  to  be  proud 
to-day ; 
Not  ev'ry  land  doth  mother  such  a  son. 
Faith  !  'twas  rare  to  see  the  learned  fight 
Amongst  the  sons  of  wisdom.     First  came 
England's  hope,  with  long  and  heavy  face, 
As  tho'  much  learning  him  had  robbed  of  grace. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  15 

His  bones  were  bigger  than  his  wit ;  for  he 

In  sound  did  much  excel,  but  not  in  sense. 

Then  the  German,  hairy  as  an  ape, 

Rose  heavy  to  his  feet.     If  he  wisdom  spake, 

'Twas  so  disguised,  that  none  did  it  recognise. 

Then  sprang  a  hot  ItaHan  in  the  breach. 

And  volley' d  an  artillery  of  sound 

Like  unto  Vesuvius  in  eruption — 

All  fume  and  fury.     The  Greek  philosopher 

Was  eloquent  indeed.     Alas  !  his  words 

Pythagoras  had  said  a  thousand  years  agone. 

After  these  came  Abelard,  and  like  a  star 

Of  unmatch'd  splendour  'midst  a  galaxy 

Of  earthly  lamps  was  he.     His  eloquence. 

All  like  a  tide,  did  bear  away 

His  audience  in  its  flowing  course. 

He  taught,  without  appearing  that  he  taught, 

How  fair'st  life  did  dwell  in  highest  thought. 

First  at.  Come,  let's  to  a  tavern  ! 

'Tis  meet  we  drink  to  such  a  health 

As  Abelard's  ! 

[Exeunt  Citizens. 

(Enter  Anselm,  Alberic,  and  Lotulf.) 

Anselm  {with  bitterness,  pointing  to  the  lanterns, 
flags y  and  hunting).     Look  upon  these  trap- 
pings ! 
Are  they  not  enow  to  make  a  man 
Rave  against  these  empty  fools  that  raise 


i6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

New  worships  in  the  place  of  ancient  gods  ? 
The  Idol  of  to-day  doth  e'er  supplant 
The  God  of  yesterday  :    and  to-morrow  yet 
Will  see  the  sun  of  this  one  set. 
Senseless  gew-gaws  !     Out  on  them  say  I  ! 
Paris  in  old  age  hath  childish  grown, 
Thus  to  deck  herself  in  folly's  rags. 

Lotulf  (wrathfully).     And  for  what,  forsooth  ! 

Anselm.     Since  Abelard  hath  taken 
To  conjuring  with  his  tongue. 

Alberic.     'Tis  truly  said,  most  wise  Anselm, 
No  better  than  a  mountebank  is  he ; 
He  conjures  with  his  words,  t'other 
With  his  hand-trickery. 

Lotulf.     The  praise  of  fools  has  tum'd  his  brain 
And  he  is  drunk  with  adulation. 
They  call  him  learned  !     History  ne'er  disclosed 
A  learned  man  who  fell  far  short  o'  fifty, 
So  how  can  Abelard  at  thirty-eight  be  wise  ? 
Here  am  I — the  youngest  of  us  all — 
Full  forty-nine  come  Martinmas, 
And  but  late  have  gain'd  a  name. 

Alberic.     Abelard  hath  a  biting  tongue.      If  I 
dar'd, 
I'd  tell  thee,  noble  Anselm,  what  he  said. 

Anselm  (with  affected  indifference).     What  said 
he? 

Alberic.     When    thou    did'st    controvert    his 
heresies, 


A  BE  LARD  AND  HE  WISE  17 

I  heard  him  utter,  with  a  Hght,  bold  laugh, 
Like  some  gallant,  unhke  a  sober  scholar, 
— And  I  hate  him  more  for  his  spirit  gay — 
*'  Methinks  that  Anselm  is  the  more  admired 
For  wrinkl'd  age  than  wit  acquired." 

Anselm.     What  he  now  learns  I've  long  forgot. 

Lotulf.     At  our  rules  and   doctrines  he  doth 
mock, 
And  we,  the  props  and  pillars  of  the  schools, 
He  dubs  as  trees  of  knowledge — barren  of  fruit. 
He  calls  us  bigots,  slaves  to  rust, 
Whose  eyes  are  blind  with  ancient  dust. 

Anselm.     His  tongue  outstrips  a  racer's  legs  ; 
Let  him  look  to  it.     His  present  high  estate 
Will  help  make  his  fall  more  great. 

Alberic.     The  stars  will  sooner  drop, 
Than  this  misplaced  idol  of  the  hour. 

Anselm  (warningly).  Wait ! 

Evil  thoughts  to  deeds  are  quickly  hatch'd, 
And  mischief  unto  fire  spreads  ;  whilst  worth — 
Like  timid  snail  doth  keep  within  her  doors. 
(Significantly)    When     worldly    idols     fall     and 

break. 
The  world  doth  haste  to  stamp  upon  the  pieces. 

Alberic   (bitterly).    Who  can  trap  a  man  that 
has  no  vice. 
Who's  cold  and  hard  in  woman's  company, 
Who  loves  not  wine  nor  sottish  fellowship, 
And  books  prefers  to  feasting  ? 

B 


i8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Lotulf.     A  miracle  alone  can  hurl  him  down, 
And     such     are     never    wrought    when    most 
desired. 

Alberic.     When  I  do  think  upon  his  crowd' d 
lectures — 
The  very  air  being  faint  with  scholars'  breaths 
Who  come  from  every  part — my  hands 
Do  itch  to  strike  the  Canon  Abelard. 

Lotulf  (whispering  to  Anselm).     Why  not  bid 
The  hired  assassin  do  his  work  ? 
Better  men  than  he  have  gone  that  way. 

Anselm.  Tush  !  fool ! 

No  punishment  'tis  for  men  like  Abelard 
To  die  a  speedy  death.     Let  him  live 
I  say,  but  live  in  hell's  own  torments  ! 

Lotulf    (sarcastically).      My   lord,    thou   art    a 
preacher  justly  famed, 
Whose      pray'rs      have,    doubtless,     weight     in 

heav'n ; 
Mayhap,  if  thou  dost  now  invoke  all  hell, 
Its  sovereign  will,  with  amity,  respond  ! 

Anselm.    Love  is  often  quench'd  by  fate, 
But  nothing  can  extinguish  hate  : 
Love  doth  come,  and  flies  away, 
But  hatred  ever  comes  to  stay  ! 

(Enter  Three  Musicians  with  lutes.  They 
station  themselves  beneath  one  of  the  windows 
of  Archbishop  Fulbert's  house.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  19 

Lotulf.     What  new  madness  is  this  ? 

Anselm.     There's  naught  new  in  madness. 

Alberic.     What  want  these  fellows  ? 

Lotulf.     It  looks  as  though  they  want'd 
To  make  music. 

Anselm.     On  the  old  theme,  belike — 
In  Abelard's  honour.     Curse  Abelard  ! 
His  very  name  doth  rouse  my  bile. 

{Goes  to  Musicians  and  addresses  them.) 

Knaves,  tell  me. 
To  whom  would  you  address  your  songs  ? 

First   Musician.     To  the  Lady  Heloise,  an'  it 

please  you,  lord. 
Anselm.     Is  it  she  whom  people  caU 
The  beautiful  and  wise  ? 

First  Musician.     The  same,  my  lord. 
Anselm  (sneeringly).     The  lion  roars  his  love 
upon  the  plains, 
The  jackass  brays  his  passion  to  his  dear, 
The  bear  doth  growl  his  fond  affections'  pains. 
The  crocodile  lets  fall  a  loving  tear. 
Man  alone  with  nature  discontent, 
Flies  to  art  to  give  his  feelings  vent. 

Lotulf.  There,  fellows  !     Begin  ! 

And  heav'n  grant  ye  a  quick  labour 
So  we  may  have  speedy  delivery. 

First    Musician    (to    his    companions).      What 
shall  we  sing  ? 


20  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Second  Musician.     A  dainty  song  of  Abelard's, 
That  he  has  titled  "  Faded  Garlands." 


Anselm  (to  Lotulf  and  Alberic,  with  savage 
emphasis).  Do  ye  hear  them  ?  Every- 
thing is  Abelard  ! 

The  air  we  breathe  is  Abelard  ! 

What  matters  it  if  Fate  be  hard  ? 

We  still  are  rich — in  Abelard ! 

If  our  fortune  should  be  marr'd, 

No  matter — there  is  Abelard  ! 

The  wisest  man,  most  perfect  bard, 

Is  no  one  else — save  Abelard  ! 

First  Musician  (sings  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  lute) ;— ' 


0  fad'd  garlands  once  so  glad, 
That  'round  your  sweetness  spread, 

1  mourn  to  see  your  beauty  gone, 
Your  vari'd  graces  shed. 


Sleep  softly  on,  till  vernal  Spring 
Shall  wake  the  silent  earth. 
And  rosy  days  and  tender  show'rs 
Shall  give  your  seedlings  birth. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  21 


When  love  is  fad'd  like  the  rose, 

And  all  its  perfume  shed, 

O  !  would  that  Spring  the  charm  possess' d 

To  wake  it  from  the  dead. 

(At  the  finish  of  the  song  Heloise  appears  at 
one  of  the  casements.  Anselm,  Lotulf, 
and  Alberic  watch  her  narrowly.  Anselm 
especially,  who  indulges  in  a  gesture  of 
triumph.) 

Heloise  (to  the  Musicians).     A  melancholy  air, 
my  friends,  which  yet 
Doth  meet  my  present  mood.     Something 
In  the  words  does  haunt  me. 
Pray  ye,  who  did  author  it  ? 

Second  Musician.  'Tis  from  the  pen  of  Canon 
Abelard,  lady. 

Heloise  (musingly).  Abelard  !     Abelard  J 

I'll  not  forget  the  name.     Thanks,  my  friends. 
Good-night,  and  thanks,  and  thanks  again 

[Closes  the  casement  and  retires. 

Third  Musician  (enthusiastically).  That  smile 
was  worth  a  gold  piece. 


22  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Second    Musician.       Wert     a    married     man, 
thou'dst  find 
That  Beauty's  smiles  do  feed  no  hungry  mouths. 

(Agaton  comes  out  of  the  house  and  gives  the 
Musicians  money.) 

Agaton.     My    mistress    sends    you    this,    good 
sirs, 
In  recognition  of  your  music  sweet. 

[Re-enters  house. 

First  Musician.     My  friends,  it  is  not  every- 
where 
One  finds  a  lady  kind  as  fair. 

[Exeunt  Musicians. 

Anselm  (exultantly).     Did  ye  mark  fair  Heloise  ? 
Alberic.     Did  I  mark  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
stars  ? 
Who  could  help  but  mark  her  ?     Nay,  she 
Does  on  others  leave  her  mark,  e'en 
Upon  this  toughen'd  heart  of  mine. 
Anselm.     The  instrument  of  our  revenge  I  see 
in  Heloise. 
Old     Fulbert    prouder    is    of    his    fair    niece's 

learning 
Than  of  all  her  charms.     To  him 
Will  I  speak  of  Abelard's  great  wisdom, 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  25 

And  so  dilate  upon  his  rare  attainments, 
That — I  know  the  fond  old  prelate  well — 
No  peace  will  he  enjoy  till  Heloise 
By  Abelard  is  school' d. 

Alheric.     In  vain  ye   set  a  woman's  trap  for 
Abelard  ; 
Eyes  and  hearts  have  wept  and  throbb'd  for  him 

in  vain. 
By'r  Lady,  he's  the  coldest  man  in  France. 

Anselm.     So  may  we  all  be,  until  we  meet — 
A  Heloise  ! 
Lotulf.     She  is  betrothed  to  Prince  Amadeus. 
Anselni.     The  better  for  our  purpose.     For  he, 
'Tis  said,  doth  love  her  dearer  than  his  soul. 
From  this  small  spark  by  me  ignited 
A  mighty  flame  shaD  burst. 

Alheric.     Most  excellent  cunning  !     I  see  the 

drift  of  't. 
Anselm.     The   drift   will  prove   an   avalanche 
to  Abelard. 
I  know  those  icy  scholars  ;   they  are  flames 
When  love  at  last  attacks  them.     Unconcealed 

wrath 
Is  the  poniard  of  dull  fools  :    did  not  Judas 
With  the  semblance  of  true  love,  commit 
The  deadliest  act  of  treachery  ? 
But  come  !     I  would  mature  my  plan, 
To  set  my  gin  and  snare  my  man. 

[Exeunt  Anselm,  Alberic,  and  Lotulf. 


24  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Enter  Abelard  and  Philintus  running.) 

Ahelard.     Are  we  safe  now  ? 
By  my  faith  !  the  people  are  exceeding  kind  ; 
But  such  applause  and  zeal  would  sure  entail 
A  new  cloak  every  time  we  met. 

(Abelard  laughingly  looks  at  his  cloak,  which 
has  been  torn  in  the  frantic  enthusiasm  of 
the  crowd  for  their  favourite  scholar.) 

Ambition  is  ne'er  content  until  she  lies 
Gasping  and  half-stifled  by  the  crowd's  caresses ; 
Then  all  ungrateful  cries,  as  I  do  now, 
"  What,  after  all,  are  these  whose  praise 
I  so  eagerly  and  long  have  laboured  for  ?  " 
Why,    Philintus,    there's    not    one    among    the 

mob 
AVho  fathers  a  thought  beyond  a  tavern  ! 
But  tell  me,  are  we  safe  ? 

Philintus.  For  awhile 

We  have  escaped  thy  friendly  persecutors ; 
But  they'll  be  here  anon,  I  warrant. 
I 'faith,  that  was  a  pretty  maid  who  came 
Foremost  in  the  crowd  to  kiss  thee. 

Ahelard.     I  did  not  mark  her,  neither  did  I  wish 
Her  forward  kisses. 

Philintus.     I  would  have  had  them  willingly. 

Ahelard.     Would  that  thou  could'st  be 
My  proxy  in  these  matters  ! 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  25 

Philintus.     'Tis  passing  strange  that  thou  dost 
write 
Such  tender  verse  on  love  and  beauty 
And  yet  hath  ne'er  a  mistress. 

Ahelard  (with  enthusiasm).     Oh  !  I  have  a  mis- 
tress, but  she  Hves  in  dreams'; 
At    night    she    comes    when    all    the    earth    is 

still, 
And  dewy  freshness  fills  the  moonlit  air 
With  dim  and  mystic  imagery. 
When  the  wandering  breezes  sigh,  I  learn 
The  language  of  another  world  than  ours  ; 
Then  it  is  my  mistress  comes  to  me. 
She  is  Goddess  of  the  air,  and  Liberty 
Hath  father' d;  her. ^"*^''  Her  voice  doth   thrill  my 

soul,  H 

And  hand  in  hand  we  speed  thro'  space, 
Her  loveliness  outshining  all  the  stars. 
Who  pale  with  envy  at  the  sight  of  her, 
Unto  those  realms  of  fancy  where  we  fly. 
We  leave  behind  the  tyranny  of  power  ; 
The  weakness  and  the  wickedness  of  kings, 
States  corrupt,  the  sensual  sloth  of  men 
Who  fear  to  rise  against  the  law  of  servitude. 
Because,  forsooth,  their  sires  suffer'd  it.     There, 

temporal 
Laws  no  power  have  to  mar  the  progress  of  such 

thought, 
Nor  turn  the  minds  and  frames  of  men 


26  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

To  be  mere  base  machinery  for  the  State's  ad- 
vantage, 
And  not  the  people's  welfare  ! 

Philintus.  And  her  name  ? 

Abelard.  Her  name  is  Freedom  ! 

Philintus.     Give  me  a  live  woman,  say  I, 
And  the  devil  take  the  phantoms 
Who  destroy  men's  rest. 

(Noise  without  of  a  clamouring  crowd  in  the 

distance.) 

Hear'st  thou  the  noisy  tongue  of  Fame  ? 

Abelard  (wearily).  Too  well ; 

My  heart  misgives  me.     I  am  overwrought 
To-night. 

Philintus.  What  ails  thee  ? 

Abelard  (with  a  shiver).     Ugh  !     Were  I  a  gude 
wife  old 
I  would  now  tell  thee  that  I  stood 
Upon  a  spot  where  evil  bod'd  me. 

Philintus.  A  bumper  of  rich  Burgundy 

Will  drive  these  student  fits  away. 
I  warn'd  thee  how  it  would  be  when 
Thy  books,  'fore  all  things,  took  precedence. 

Abelard.     A  warning's  like  the  plague, 
We  only  feel  it  when  we  catch  it ! 

(Hubbub  of  the  crowd  coming  nearer  and  nearer.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  27 

Abelard.        The  hunters  are  upon  us, 
Where  shall  we  escape  ? 

{Enter  Fulbert  and  Anselm.) 

Anselni.     Abelard' s  the  finest  scholar  of  them 
all! 

(Sees  Abelard.) 

Why,  as  I  live,  there  stands  the  substance 

Of   my   commendation !     There's   fate   in    some 
encounters  ! 

{To  Abelard)  Graciously  met !  Two  such  learned 
men 

Must  know  each  other.     This,  Archbishop  Ful- 
bert, 

Is  he  of  whom  I've  spoken,  brilliant  Abelard. 
Fulbert.     Your  fame  has  long  preced'd 

The  graces  of  your  person.  Canon  Abelard. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Paris  echoing  thy  praise, 

Like  true  echo,  a  thousand  times  again. 

(Clamour  of  crowd  coming  nearer.) 

Abelard.  My  lord, 

I  am  beholden  to  your  graciousness 
For  your  kindly  words.     But,  truth  to  tell, 
I  am  somewhat  weary,  and  fain  would  fly 


28  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

From  the  crowd's  embracement.     As  you  came 
Upon  us,  my  friend  and  I  were  planning 
An  escape. 

Anselm.     There's  fate,  I  know,  there's  fate  in 
this  ; 
For  the  reverend  Fulbert  is  alike  renown' d 
For  hospitality  and  for  virtue. 
Therefore,  methinks,  I  read  him  right 
When  I  do  say  he  fain  would  offer  you 
The  shelter  of  his  friendly  roof  until 
The  crowd  is  past. 

Fulbert.     Nay,  good  friend,  surely  this  is  wel- 
come scant 
To  offer  this  great  scholar.     Not  alone 
Until  the  crowd  is  past,  but  longer  far 
Do  I  entreat  his  goodly  company. 
Accept  an  old  man's  welcome,  Abelard  ; 
It  lieth  more  at  heart  than  voluble  expression. 

Anselm    {aside).      Men    contrive,    but    chance 
determines  all  ! 

(Fulbert  goes  to  the  house  door,  and  fumbles 
at  the  key  in  the  door.) 

Fulbert.     Hands  may  tremble  when  we're  old, 
But  our  hearts  beat  steadier  for  that. 

(Opens  the  door.) 

Enter,  great  scholar, 
And  welcome  from  to-night  be  you  for  ever. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  29 

{All  enter  the  house  hut  Philintus,  who  stands 
in  the  street  watching  with  a  whimsical  ex- 
pression the  coming  rush  and  roar  of  the 
crowd.  Enter  Citizens  a^id  Students 
shouting  and  clamouring.) 

First  Cit.     Whither  hath  Abelard  gone  ? 
Second  Cit.     I  saw  him  pass  this  way.     [Points 

in  one  direction.) 
Third  Cit.     I  saw  him  pass  that  way.     {Points 

in  another  direction.) 
Second  Cit.     Dog,  you  he  ! 
Third  Cit.     What  !     To  my  face  ! 

{They  fight.       The  crowd  interferes,  and  a   melee 

ensues.) 

Philintus.     Fists  fight  ;  throats  shout  ;  tongues 
wag; 
Ye  hunt  the  great,  as  ye  would  the  stag  ! 

[Exit  into  Fulbert's  house. 

Scene  2 

A  room  in  Fulbert's  house. 

(Heloise  and  Myrtila  seated  together.  Hel- 
oise  is  abstractedly  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  a  rich  missal.  Myrtila  is  diligently 
sewing  at  an  altar  cloth.) 

Myrtila.  Here  dost  thou  in  meditation  sit, 
my  Heloise, 


30  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

As  though  a  sepulchre  had  ope'd  to  enfold  thee 
In  lieu  the  arms  of  such  a  courtly  gallant 
As  Prince  Amadeus.     Full  many  a  maid 
Would  give  her  eyes  for  such  a  lover. 

Heloise.  I  would  give  my  eyes 

If  I  could  not  see  him. 
Myrtila.     But  thy  uncle  loves  and  favours  him. 
Heloise.     If  Heloise  were  her  uncle,  and  her 
uncle  Heloise, 
Then  this  match  would  rejoice  her. 

Myrtila.     Thou  dost  not  surely  hate  him  ? 
Heloise.     Hate  !     Nay,  I  hate  him  not ; 
But  then  I  do  not  love  him. 
Myrtila    (biting    off    a    thread     and     shaking 
her   head   wisely).     One   need   not    deeply 
love  to  wisely  wed. 
Heloise.     What,  Mignon  !  dar'st  prate  of  wed- 
ding lacking  love, 
When  it  alone  should  make  one  wed  ? 

Myrtila  (sewing  with  assumed  assiduity,  wisely 
as  before).     Many  men  and  women  think 
they  love,  then  wed, 
And  buy  dear  pleasure  for  a  month 
At  the  price  of  life's  discomfort. 

Heloise.     Those  rules  and  methods  sway  thee 
In  which  thy  gentle  mother  train'd  thee. 
Alas  !  I  never  knew  such  hallow' d  love, 
For,  when  I  came,  my  mother  died  ; 
Then  kindly  Fulbert  foster' d  me. 


ABELARD  AND  HE  WISE  31 

He  trained  me  like  a  darling  son  ; 
For  thou  did'st  sew  when  I  read  Greek, 
And  thou  did'st  play  when  I  was  set 
To  hold  my  own  'midst  Latin  scholars. 
When  thou  did'st  gossip  with  fair  friends, 
Sage  men  were  my  companions  ; 
And  in  their  weighty  converse  I  forgot 
The  levity  of  youth. 

Myrtila.     Leave  wisdom  to  the  aged  ! 
Why  should' st  thou  so  sweet  and  fair 
Be  old  before  thy  time  ?     I  pray  thee 
Wed  the  Prince  who  loves  thee  so. 
^TwiU  make  thy  Uncle  Fulbert  glad, 
And  fill  thy  friend  with  proudest  joy. 

Heloise.     I  love  not  Amadeus.     But  affection 
strong 
Binds  me  to  my  kinsman  Fulbert. 

Myrtila.  If  thou  lov'st  no  other  man, 
Why  not  wed  the  Prince  ?  He's  young. 
He's  handsome,  opulent,  and  noble. 

Heloise,     Come,  sit  beside,  and  I  will  tell  thee. 

{Myrtila    takes    a    stool  and  sits  at  the  feet  of 

Heloise.) 

Heloise.     I  have  dream'd  of  a  vision  lov'r, 
Which  makes  me  shun  those  temporal. 
He  stands  alone,  and  soars  above  the  earth 
With  high-erect'd  thoughts  beyond  his  time. 
His  lofty  truths,  like  heaven's  thunder, 


32  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Seem  to  shake  the  world,  and  wake 

The  drowsy  sluggard  from  his  idle  rest 

To  nobler  aims.     No  line  of  ancestry  he  claims. 

For,  like  a  god,  he  doth  create, 

And  not  by  chance  of  birth  inherit. 

Yea  !  I  have  dreamed  of  him,  Myrtila, 

Until  my  lips  have  called  on  him  to  come, 

And  with  a  kiss  he  hath  unseal' d  my  soul, 

Which,  fiutt'ring  like  a  bird  set  free, 

Hath  gone  to  him  for  ever. 

Myrtila.  Let  not  a  dream 

With  false  and  flitting  images 
Cloud  thy  life  with  melancholy. 
I  beseech  thee — cast  dreams  to  shadowland 
From  whence  they  came,  and  wed  the  Prince. 

Heloise.     I    fain   would    please   my   good    old 
guardian 
E'en  against  my  own  desires. 

Myrtila.     I'll  take  thy  half-consent,  and  make 
it  whole. 
When  a  woman  says  "  Mayhap,"  she  meaneth 

"  Aye." 
Princess  Heloise  !  how  fine  it  sounds  ! 
Here  comes  the  Prince  !  [Exit. 

(Enter  Prince  Amadeus.) 

Amadens.     Would   that    I    knew    the    pensive 
cloak  of  thought 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  33 

That  now  enwraps  thee  was  of  a  colour 
Most  harmonious  to  my  wish  ? 

Heloise.     After   all   that   I    have  said  against 
it, 
Think  you  I  still  can  bring  you  happiness  ? 

Amadeus  (passionately).     Oh,  Heloise  !  I  dream 
of  thee  as  shipwreck' d  mariners 
Do  think  upon  a  far-off  golden  shore  ! 
Thou  art  my  sole  idea  of  happiness. 
My  highest  hopes — ambitions — joys — 
Do  bear  one  corporeal  form  in  thee. 
There  were  none  fair,  till  thou  did'st  come  ; 
None  were  gracious,  till  thou  did'st  smile  ; 
There  was  no  music,  till  thy  voice 
Great' d  by  its  harmony  another  world  for  me. 
Through  sickness,  sorrow,  and  misfortune, 
Through  wrinkl'd  age,  untoward  circumstance, 
Through  every  mood — so  it  be  thine — 
Will  I  cherish  thee  with  constancy. 
Nay,  so  deep  my  love  will  be. 
Response  at  last  must  come  from  thee. 

Heloise  (giving  her  hand  to  Amadeus).    Not  so 
hard  of  soul  am  I,  my  Prince, 
That  I  unmov'd  can  listen  to  your  words. 
Here  is  my  hand.     My  heart,  mayhap, 
Will  follow  it  in  time.     A  woman's  nature 
Is  a  citadel  that  surrenders  oft  to  kindness. 

Amadeus.  For  so  much  graciousness, 

Loving  thee  as  I  do,  I  thank  thee. 

c 


34  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Tumult  without  of  the  crowd,  who  shout  "  Long 
live  Ahelard  !  "  "  Long  live  Abelardf") 

Heloise.     Abelard  !     Abelard  !      Who  is   Abe- 
lard  ? 
To-night,  when  your  musicians  play'd, 
They  told  me  that  the  verse  and  melody 
Both  were  writ  by  one  Abelard  ! 

Amadeus.  Abelard  hath  the  greatest  name 

For  learning  in  all  France.     Hast  never  heard 
Of  him  before  ? 

Heloise.     You  forget  that  I  but  lately  come 
From  Rome.     In  convents,  learned  living  men 
Give  place  to  the  wiser  dead. 
Is  Abelard  an  old  and  sour'd  man  ? 
'Tis  strange  that  wisdom's  fairest  gifts 
Do  fall  upon  the  plainest  laps  ! 

Amadeus.     Women  call  him  handsome. 
But  what  do  women  know  of  looks  ? 
They'll  measure  beauty  by  the  yard. 
And  if  a  man  is  longer  than  a  pole 
"  He's  finely  built,"  and  if  he's  squat 
And  fat,  they'll  have  it  he  is  strong  ; 
A  man  need  only  have  a  face, 
For  women  to  accord  him  grace. 

(Enter  Fulbert,  followed  by  Abelard,  Anselm, 
and  Philintus.  At  the  sight  of  Abelard, 
Heloise  becomes  transfixed,  then  starts, 
and  cries.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  35 

Heloise.     My  dream  lover  ! 

Fulbert  (garrulously).     This  is  my  niece,  most 

learned  Abelard ; 
Our  sudden  coming  in  hath  startl'd  her. 
All  the  treasures   of  my  house    I    have   shown 

you 
Save  this,  but  for  the  last  reserved 
The  greatest  and  the  best. 

Abelard   {aside  to    Philintus).     Where  is  my 

earthly  logic  now 
Before  this  piece  of  heavenly  work  divine  ? 
She  seems  to  throw  a  stream  of  light  around, 
Which    makes    us    all    but     heavy    clay    com- 

par'd. 
(Aloud  to  Heloise).  Meseems 

That     I      have     look'd     upon     your     face     ere 

now, 
But  not  in  life.     In  some  great  picture 
Limm'd  by  master  hand,  when  his  art 
Has  sought  a  model  fit  in  Paradise  ! 

Fulbert    (complacently).     Abelard   hath   most 

delicate  civility. 
Did  ye  hear  the  pretty  compliment  he  made  ? 
Lord  !  that  I  my  manners  should  forget 
In  praising  of  another  !     Monsignor  Abelard  ! 
Be  pleased  to  know  Prince  Amadeus,  betrothed 
To  Heloise.     Methinks,  it  is  but  right 
That  learning  great  and  high  nobility 
Should  go  hand-in-hand  in  amity. 


36  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Abelard  and  Amadeus  shake  hands :  Abe- 
lard  with  frank  kindness  of  manner, 
Amadeus  with  ill-concealed  annoyance.) 

Fulbert,       Nor  must   I   neglect   Messire  Phil- 
intus, 
The  loyal  friend  of  Canon  Abelard. 
Heloise.     You  are  welcome,  sir. 
Anselm  {aside,  watching  Abelard,  who  regards 
Heloise    with    wonder    and    admiration). 
The  victory  is  ours  ! 
The  iceberg  melts  already  ! 

Fulbert.     Silence  seals  thy  lips  to  Abelard,  sweet 
niece. 
Speak  to  him  ;  be  not  afraid,  altho' 
He  is  the  noblest  son  of  France. 

Heloise  (to  Abelard,  falteringly).      I  bid  you 
welcome,  Monseigneur, 
Not  in  words  alone,  but  with  my  heart, 
For  it  seems  as  if  I  too  had  seen 
Your  face  and  heard  your  voice  before — in  dreams. 

Anselm  {aside).     Why  need  Lucifer  set  traps, 
When  mortals  aye  pursue  his  ways  without  ? 
Amadeus    {fumingly    to    Fulbert).      Heloise 
appears 
Much  taken  with  this  scholar. 
I  like  it  not. 

Fulbert  (warningly).  Prince  !     Prince  ! 

Harbour  not  the  serpent  Jealousy.     Her  venom 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  37 

Paints  all  actions  black,  and  would 
Befoul  an  angel's  deeds  with  poison. 

Amadeus.  Too  little  jealousy 

Fares  as  ill  as  too  much  ! 

Anselm  (who  has  been  listening,  with  a  covert 
smile).     I  entreat  your  pardon, 
But  by  chance  I  overheard  the' subject 
Of  your  discourse.     Prince,  I  swear  to  you 
That  Abelard  to  love  is  inaccessible  : 
He  hates  all  womankind. 
(Aside)    To    hate     all    women     doth     keep    no 

man 
From  loving  one  ! 

Fulbert   (eagerly   to   Anselm).     Think'st   thou, 
my  friend, 
That  Abelard  would  teach  my  Heloise  ? 
There's  much  of  Greek  and  Latin  that 
I  still  would  have  her  learn.      Thou   dost   not 
answer. 

Anselm.     'Tis  because  I  think  for  thee  ; 
Abelard's  time  is  greatly  taken  up. 
(Aside)  I  know  the  world.     Men  seek  the  more 
To  reach  the  thing  that  is  withheld. 

Fulbert.  Shall  I  speak  to  him  ? 

If  I  ask,  mayhap  I'll  court  refusal. 

Anselm.     If   he  refuse  thee,  court  him  till  he 
yields. 

Fulbert.     I  thank  thee,  Anselm,  for  thy  counsel ; 
'Twas  a  goodly  thought  from  a  pious  man. 


38  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Goes    to    Abelard,    who    is    conversing    with 
Heloise.) 

Monsigneur  Abelard  ! 
I  have  one  fond  desire,  which,  if  you 
Accord,  will  make  me  glad  indeed. 

Abelard.  Noble  Fulbert,  your  request 

Is  granted  ere  'tis  utter'd. 

Philintus.     Is  not  that  rashly  spoken  ? 

Fulbert.  Learned  Abelard,  I  fain 

Would  have  my  niece  instruct'd  by  3^ou. 
Wil't  teach  her  ? 

Abelard  (hesitatingly).     I  teach  but  men. 
(Aside)  I  must  fight  with  this  request. 
Already  she  has  taught  me  that 
My  heart  is  far  too  apt  a  pupil 
In  the  school  of  love  ! 

Anselm    (tentatively).       Methought    it    would 
be  so ! 
Abelard  doth  think  that  womenkind 
Are  wayward,  pliable,  and  easy  ;  with  no  soul 
And  no  stability  to  learn  as  men  have. 
Yet  Socrates  did  say  that  females  are 
A  sex  no  way  inferior  to  ours 
Save  in  strength  corporal. 

Abelard.  Think  me  not  so  churlish  ; 

I  have  no  thought  of  womenkind  but 
Would  grace  the  heart  of  any  man. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  39 

Heloise.     Refuse  not  then,  I  pray, 
To  count  me  amongst  the  humblest 
Of  your  happy  scholars. 

Abelard  (aside).     Vain  to  fly,  when  passion's 
snares 
Have  seized  upon  us  unawares. 

Fulbert.     Can  you  refuse  the  darling  wish 
Of  an  old  man's  heart  ? 

Abelard.  The  lips  of  revered  age 

Scarce  ever  ask  in  vain. 

Amadeus    (interposing    with    some    heat).     To 
what  doth  all  this  learning  tend, 
And  what  needs  Heloise  with  more  of  't  ? 

Philintus  (aside  to  Abelard).     There's   some- 
thing wrong  in  all  this, 
And,  womanlike,  I  can  no  reason  give, 
But  that  I  like  it  not  for  thee,  my  Abelard. 
Forego  this  scholar,  she's  too  fair.     Say  "  Nay," 
And  make  an  end  on  't. 

Abelard  (aside).     I'm  torn  between  ye  all. 
How  can  I  harsh  refuse  a  simple  boon 
That  kind  old  man  and  his  fair  niece 
Have  ask'd  of  me  ? 

Amadeus    (angrily).      Heloise    shall    learn    no 
more. 
I  will  not  brook  it. 

Heloise.  Prince ! 

It  is  not  your  right,  as  yet. 
To  sway  or  rule  my  will. 


40  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Anselm   (gleefully,   aside).     A  quarrel  already ! 
And  Abelard  the  subject !     What  news 
For  Lotulf  and  for  Alberic. 
Love  and  hate  are  plants  that  grow 
Beyond  our  power,  ere  we  know. 

(Hubbub  of  crowd  outside  the  house  shout- 
ing, "  Long  live  Abelard,  the  elegant 
scholar  .f''  A  woman's  voice  is  heard  above 
the  rest,  screaming,  "  Love  to  the  handsome 
Abelard ! "  which  is  followed  by  laughter 
and  cheers  from  the  mob.) 

Amadeus    (with    suppressed   fury,    aside).     Let 
me  but  hear  one  word 
Save  that  used  in  common  courtesy, 
And  I  will  slay  this  half-fledg'd  priest. 

Fulbert  (rubbing  his  hands  with  delight,  goes  to 
the  casement  and  opens  it  wide  ;    the  cries 
of  the  crowd  are  vociferous).     This  is  balsam 
to  my  mind. 
To  feel  that  men  do  justly  value  wisdom. 

Philintus  (to  Abelard).     Thou  should' st  speak 
to  them. 
For  thou  alone  canst  calm  the  storm 
Which  thou  hast  call'd  to  life. 

(Crowd  without,  '^  Long  live  great  Abelard/''^ 
''Abelard/''      ''Abelard!''     Fulbert 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  41 

approaches  Abelard  and  leads  him  to 
the  casement,  wherefrom  his  appearance  is 
hailed  with  enthusiasm.) 

Abelard  {to  the  crowd).     Friends  !  for  this,  your 

gracious  welcome, 
I  would  in  truth  a  niggard  be 
To  close  my  thanks  within  my  breast 
As  misers  do  their  gold.     Yet,  I  would  plead 
That  I  am  weary  with  the  work 
Of  many  days  and  nights  unslept :    and  thus 
Reminding  ye   there's    no  success    without    its 

hitch, 
Fain  would  I  seek  repose. 

A  Voice  in  the  crowd.     A  mob  is  plaguey  ;  like 

the  plague, 
'Twill  stick  until  some  antidote 
Disperses  it.     We  want  no  windy  speech. 
But  something  tunefully  extemporised. 

(The  crowd  shouts  "  Hurrah  .'  "  "  Hurrah  !  " 
and  the  speaker^s  suggestion  is  received  with 
every  demonstration  of  approval.) 

Philintus.     Give  them  a  verse  or  two 
On  knowledge. 

Abelard.         'Tis  a  subject 
Hard  to  assail  and  difficult  to  dismiss. 


42  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Amadeus    (contemptuously).      Then     speak     of 
wars 
And  mighty  deeds  of  prowess. 

Abelard.  What !     I  ? 

Who  ne'er  slew  man  yet 
By  word  o'  mouth  or  courtly  point  of  sword  ! 

Fulbert.     A  few,  but  chosen,  words 
On  wisdom  will  suffice. 

Abelard,  A  cataract,  my  lord, 

Will  not  be  dammed  by  hazel  wood  ; 
A  noble  theme  requires  a  noble  treatment. 
Or  else  'tis  dammed  by  lukewarm  handling. 

Anselm  (with  hypocritical  unction).  Speak  of 
the  Universal  Mother  ! 

Abelard.     The  Earth  ? 

Anselm.     Nay.     The  Church. 

Abelard  (aside).     'Tis  all  the  same; 
Both  have  a  maw  insatiable. 

Heloise.  Let  your  theme  be 

That  which  delights  the  heart  of  every  man — 
Love,  and  his  Native  Land. 
I 

(Abelard,  inspired  by  Heloise,  stands  before 
the  open  casement  and  declaims  the  following  ; 
and  although  his  tones  sometimes  rise  to  a 
pitch  of  enthusiasm,  the  manner  of  his  re- 
cital shows  that  it  is  extempore.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  43 


My  Native  Land,  where  Nature  greets  the  eye 
With  mount  and  valley  emerald  green  and  fair  ; 
Where  Beauty's  charms  live  not  to  fade  and  die, 
But  reign  supreme  in  lasting  triumph  there. 


Bless' d  clime  !  far  greater  in  thy  aspect  mild 
Than  all  the  warlike  cities  of  the  earth, 
Thou  teachest  mankind  as  a  simple  child, 
The  calm,  but  great  nobility  of  worth. 

3 

The  alien  hand  shall  never  blight  that  land 
Which  Freedom  claims  entirely  as  her  own  ; 
There  Love  and  Gladness  wander  hand  in  hand, 
There  sway  of  sceptr'd  tyrant  is  unknown. 

4 

Farewell  awhile  !     Now  Duty  bids  me  hence, 
But  aye  this  thought  is  cherish' d  in  my  breast ; 
That  for  my  long,  long  labour's  recompense, 
My  dust  within  my  native  earth  shall  rest ! 

(The  crowds   shout   and  hurrah,   and   Heloise 
impulsively      darts     forward     and      kisses 


44  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Abelard's  hand.  Prince  Amadeus,  with  a 
gesture  of  anger,  half-draws  his  sword  and 
would  rush  at  Abelard,  hut  is  restrained 
by  Anselm,  who  cautiously  withholds  him.) 

Anselni       (meaningly).       Patience,      patience, 
Prince  ! 
There  is  a  time  for  everything, 
And  your  time  is — not  yet  ! 


Act  II 


ACT     II 

Scene  i 

Hall    in    Anselm's    house    (window    overlooking 

garden). 

(Anselm,  Lotulf,  and  Alberic  meeting.) 

Anselm.     Well  met,  good  friends  ! 
There's  excellent  sport  afoot,  e'en  for  us 
Who  do  not  hunting  go. 

Lotulf.  Say'st  thou 

That  the  lion  is  already  caught  ? 

Anselm.     1  do  say  it. 

Alberic.     But  'tis  so  quickly  done — 
It  cannot  be  of  a  surety. 

Anselm.     Who  ever  lov'd  with  passion's  fire 
That  lov'd  not  at  first  sight  ?     I  tell  thee 
That  he  is  so  bound  with  love,  his  very  silence 
Speaks  it.     Oh  !  Abelard  is  caught. 

Alberic.     How  canst  thou  believe  a  sign  ? 
Who  never  loved,  can  never  teU 
The  emblems  of  true  passion. 


48  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Anselm.     How  dost  thou  know  I  never  lov'd  ? 
Think  not  because  chill  age  imparts 
Dullness  to  eye  and  speech,  time  was  not 
When  youth  did  warm  my  blood 
With  lover's  ardour. 

Lotulf.     Silence  is  but  an  ashen  proof 
Of  a  burning  fire. 

Anselm    {contemptuously).     There    are    other 
tokens. 
He's  quitted  Aristotle,  and  doth  sweetly  talk 
On  Ovid's  art  of  Love.     Sage  Socrates 
Is  banished  for  light  Apollo.     Nor  is  this  all. 
Yon    little    casement    looks    into    old    Fulbert's 

garden  ; 
There,  unseen,  I  watch  the  master  and  his  pupil. 
The  famous  Abelard  and  the  fair  Heloise. 
I  see  his  frame  oft  shake  in  sighs 
As  though  Vesuvius  were  in  labour 
And  troubl'd  to  be  delivered  of  its  lava. 

Lotulf.     Let  us  too  watch  and  listen. 
Old  Fulbert's  garden  is  so  begirt 
With  shrubs  and  trees  and  flowered  banks, 
'Twould  no  labour  be  to  hide  and  hearken 
To  their  discourse.     If  it  be  learned. 
We  can  leave  them  ;    be  it  amorous, 
Straightway  let  us  to  old  Fulbert. 

Alberic.    Like    the    Archangel    Gabriel.     And 
tell  him 
Drive  this  Adam  from  his  Eve  and  Eden. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  49 

Then  Amadeus 
Will  rise  in  arms  against  the  wolf, 
Who  in  lamb-like  guise  did  come 
To  steal  away  his  dear  ! 

Anselm.         Come  then  and  watch 
This  fire  I  have  light' d ;  this  love 
Shall  bring  us  our  revenge. 

Scene  2 

A  part  of  Archbishop  Fulbert's  garden^ 
houses  on  one  side.  At  the  bottom  flows 
a  stream  of  the  Seine,  on  whose  silvery 
breast  is  scattered  water-lilies.  The  fruit 
blossoms  deck  the  trees  in  rich  profusion^ 
and  the  very  air  seems  redolent  with  the 
breath  of  early  summer.  Abelard,  holding 
a  book,  is  seated  on  a  rustic  bench,  and 
Heloise,  a  few  paces  off,  also  has  a  volume 
in  her  hands.  Their  attitudes  are  those  of 
master  and  pupil.  During  the  opening 
lines  Fulbert,  Anselm,  Lotulf,  and 
Alberic  C07ne  out  of  the  house  and  hide 
behind  the  trees. 

Abelard   (as  though  reading  from  his  volume). 
My  heart  was  like  the  deep  unfathom'd  sea 
Which  thine  eyes  alone  have  sounded. 

Heloise  {also  as  though  reading).     My  love  was 
pent  up  like  a  pearl 

D 


50  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Within  a  shell  which  none  could  ope. 
But  lo  !  the  music  of  thy  voice 
Did  cause  it  to  unclose. 

Ahelard.     Is  that  what  Catullus  says  ? 
Methinks  that  you  have  read  it  wrongly. 

Heloise  {hastily).     Not  I,  master. 

Ahelard  (continuing).     Suns  may  set  and  rise 
again, 
But  once  this  too  brief  life  is  o'er, 
We  sleep  thro'  one  perpetual  night. 

{Closes    his    book,    and   speaks    as    though    from 

memory.) 

Therefore  love  me,  for  I  love  thee, 
And  short  is  our  time  for  joy 
On  earth  here  below. 

Heloise.     Is  that  in  the  book  ? 

Methinks — methinks (Pauses  confusedly.) 

Ahelard.     What  think  you,  gentle  scholar  ? 
Heloise    (seating   herself    on    the    trunk     of    a 
fallen    tree).      No    matter,     Monseigneur, 
my  thoughts  are  birds  ; 
They  flutter  to  my  heart  and  fly  away  again. 
Ahelard  (reopens  his  hook,  and  repeats  as  though 
reading  therefrom).     Sweet  maid  !  thy  pure 
and  thoughtful  eyes 
Have  caught  the  colour  from  the  skies. 
O  surely  in  some  other  land 
Than  this  I  must  have  touched  that  hand 


ABELARD  AND  HE  WISE  51 

And  heard  thy  golden  voice  repeat 
The  light'st  things  to  make  them  sweet. 
Were  I  the  flow'rs  by  thy  side, 
To  die  near  thee  would  be  my  pride. 

Heloise.     Alas  !     You  know  the  book  so  well, 
I  cannot  follow  you  so  fast.     But  show  me 
Where  this  verse  is  writ  !     My  book 
Doth  hold  it  not. 

(Goes  over  to  Abelard.) 

Ahelard  (closing  the  hook  with  vehemence).     Here, 
'tis  written  here,  within  my  breast, 
Upon  that  book  which  is  my  heart  alone. 
Now  bid  me  hence,  and  quit  your  sight. 
And  change  joy's  day  to  woe  of  night. 

Heloise.     Were  I  to  bid  you  hence, 
I'd  send  myself  as  well.     You  hold 
The  better  part  of  me,  and  what  remains 
Is  but  the  husk  and  shell  of  Heloise. 

Go  from  me. 
And  all  that's  me  goes  with  you. 

(Drawn  hy  a  mutual  and  irresistible  impulse, 
they  embrace.  As  this  takes  place,  Anselm 
stealthily  leads  Fulbert  from  the  em- 
brasure of  the  trees.  Alberic  and  Lotulf 
follow  them.) 

Fulbert  (with  tremulous  indignation).     Oh  !  that 
mine  eyes  had  borne  false  witness  ! 


52  ABELARD  AND  HE  WISE 

Oh !     that     my    senses     had,     with     madness* 

hues, 
Paint'd  this  scene  'fore  my  disordered  brain, 
Taking  all  truth's  colours,  and  yet  been  perjur'd  ! 
Noble    Anselm,  bear  with    me,  and  ye,  revered 

sirs, 
Tha.t  I  did  first,  with  scornful  disbelief, 
Deny  your  tale  of  shame.    O  Love !  O  Trust  ! 
Ye  are  but  gods  of  clay — and  dust. 

Anselm  {aside  to  Fulbert).     Send  him  hence, 

but  thy  dignity  uphold ; 
'Tis  only  in  affliction  that  characters  of  worth 
Can  show  they're  finer  dust  than  common  potters' 

earth  ! 
LoUilf  (with  the  object  of  working  up  Fulbert' s 

passion).     You  are  deeply  injur'd,  noble 

Fulbert ; 
Therefore  show  no  mercy.     Pity  would  be  weak- 
ness. 
Alberic  (with  the  same  object  in  view).     Would 

that  we  were  younger  spirits  all, 
That  one  of  us  might  challenge  Abelard, 
And  kill  him  for  his  foul  deceit. 

(The  lovers  have  hitherto  been  unaware  of  their 
intruders,  enwrapped  as  they  are  by  the 
communion  of  their  first  love.  Fulbert, 
with  stern  and  forbidding  countenance,  comes 
between  them.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  53 

Fulbert.  Oh  !  that  deceit, 

Damnable,    corrupt,     and     vile     deceit,     should 

hide 
Beneath  such  seeming  virtue  !     Where  is  chastity 
If  Heloise  be  false  ?     And  where  is  truth 
When  Abelard  doth  lie  ?     How  true  it  is 
That  deadliest  poisons  hidden  lurk 
Within  the   sweetest  guise.     O  Virtue  !    I   have 

followed 
In  thy  footsteps  throughout  life 
To  find  thee  but  a  shade  !     Bear  with  me. 
Good  Anselm  ;  I  am  an  old  man,  and  a  weak, 
And  things  now  wreck  my  soul  that  ne'er 
Before  had  roused  my  spirit. 
(To  Abelard)    Get  thee  from  my  sight,   false 

Abelard  ! 
I'll  never  hear  thy  name  again  but  I 
Will    curse    it.      When    men    shall    praise    thy 

learning, 
I'll  think  of  it  as  devil's  wiles,  with  which 
He  hath  invest'd  thee  so  thou 
Should'st  better  work  in  his  black  service. 
(To  Heloise)  Wanton  maid  ! 

Get    thee    to    thy    chamber;     I'll     follow    thee 

anon  ! 
Abelard.  Hold,  old  man  !  ) 

In  all  this  hapless  matter  she  is  innocent.  /^ 
Mine  alone  the  fault,  if  fault  it  be ;  C. 

Mine  the  guilt,  if  there  be  guilt  in  love.        y 


54  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  if  you  be  not  like  those  judges  false, 
Who,  sway'd  by  pow'r,  fear,  or  thought  of  gain, 
Maim  and  mangle  laws  of  God  and  man. 
Twisting  even  an  angel's  deed  to  crime 
For  some   foul    purpose  damn'd — reproach  thy- 
self, 
Or  me,  or  Nature,  but  not  sweet  Heloise. 
Are  scholars  less  than  men,  that  they 
Should  fail  to  love  earth's  best  creat'd  things  ? 
Repress  it,  stunt  it,  as  ye  will, 
But  Nature  will  be  nature  still. 

Anselm  (aside  to  Fulbert).     How  craftily  he 
speaks  ! 
His  tongue  would  make  thee  out  to  be 
As  full  of  guilt  and  guile  as  he. 

Fulbert.     But  there  is  truth  in  what  he  says, 
For  I  besought  him  teach  my  niece. 
(To    Abelard)    In    leaving    here,   wilt    promise 

me 
To  atone  in  part  for  thy  transgression  ? 

Abelard  (moodily).     What  would  you  have  ? 

Fulbert.  Vow  to  me  to  see  no  more 

This  maid,  who  is  betroth' d  unto  another. 

Abelard.     Bid  me  to  see  the  sun  no  more 
Waking  from  his  nightly  sleep 
To  don  his  mantle  gold  of  day. 
Bid  me  to  close  mine  eyes  unto  the  stars, 
Whose  tender  glances  pity  suffering  earth 
Burning  with  sorrow's  fever. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  55 

Bid  me  close  mine  eyes  to  all  the  world 

And  its  so-call'd  joys,  but  not 

To  her  who  hath  aroused  my  heart 

From  its  dull  sleep.     Old  man  !  thou  know'st  not 

What  thou  hast  ask'd  of  me  !     E'en  death 

Will  not  close  out  the  form  of  my  belov'd. 

My  closing  eyes  would  still  behold  her 

As  a  dying  Eastern  pictures  paradise ; 

And  in  the  sleep  of  death  that  follows, 

My  dream  would  still  be — Heloise ! 

Heloise.  Yesterday  I  dar'd  not  utter 

The  words  that  must  be  said  to-day. 
When  thou  wert  here,  an  honour'd  guest, 
I  fear'd  to  say  how  dear  I  held  thee, 
Lest  thou  should' st  lightly  prize 
A  love  that  quickly  came.     But  now, 
Since  cruel  circumstance  hath  changed  her  face 
And  frowns  on  us  :    go  with  these  words 
In  thine  ears  and  heart.     I  love  thee,  Abelard  ! 
With  all  my  soul's  most  deep,  most  true, 
Most  earnest  tenderness,  I  love  thee  ! 

Fulbert  (seizing  Heloise  roughly).     Out  upon 
thee! 
Thou  speak' st  like  a  strumpet,  not  a  maid  ; 
Begone  to  thy  chamber  !     Go  ! 

Heloise.     God  be  with  thee,  sweet  Abelard ! 

[Exit. 

Fulbert    (furiously,    to    Abelard).     Will    you 
begone  ? 


56  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Anselm.     In   all   the   annals   of   outrag'd  hos- 
pitality, 
None  can  find  so  black  a  crime  as  this. 
I  grieve  to  see  such  villainy 
^ Neath  the  surface  of  such  learning  ! 

Lotulf.     Alas  !     To  think  a  man  so  gifted 
Should  be  so  base ! 

Alheric.     I  mourn  to  see  a  man  so  high 
Descend  so  low. 

Abelard.     Snarl,  ye  hounds  !     Voice  was  given 
ye 
To  use  it  as  ye  do.     I  know  ye  passing  well. 
Ye,  whose  tongues  distil  fine  honey, 
Gather  venom  in  your  hearts,  like  snakes, 
And  disgorge  it  when  ye  list  ! 
I  know  your  mock  humility,  your  act'd  lies. 
Your  vain  hypocrisy.     Ye  wend  your  ways 
In  luxury  and  free  indulgences. 
Whilst  from  your  pulpits  preach  to  men 
On  Temperance.     Your  Church  is  like  a  palace, 
The  while  pale  Want  without  doth  starve. 
I  know  ye  passing  well !     And  if  the  State 
Be  built  upon  such  crumbling  earth  as  ye. 
Woe   unto    the    land    whose  groundwork   is    so 

rotten, 
And  woe  unto  the  king  that  leans  on  ye  ! 
Ye  censure  me  for  loving,  but  'tis  not  that 
Which  hath  arous'd  the  malice  in  your  breasts. 
Virtue's  your  pretext,  but  your  cause  is  spite. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  57 


Many  tongues  rank  envy  speaks  : 
Winds  howl  around  the  highest  peaks  ! 


[Exit. 


Alberic.     A  dangerous  man  ! 

Lotulf.  A  dangerous  man  ! 

Full  to  bursting  of  vague  threat' nings 
Like  a  rumbling  thunder-cloud. 

Alberic.     Look  to  your  niece,  noble  Fulbert ; 
She'll  not  be  safe  while  he's  about. 

Lotulf.  She'll  be  safe 

When  she  is  wed. 

Anselm.     Tush  !  fool !     'Tis  the  captive  bird 
Most  longs  to  fly.     Prithee,  good  Fulbert, 
Wilt    tell     the      Prince     of     Canon     Abelard's 
misdeed  ? 

Fulbert.     No  word  of  it,  I  pray  ye,  friends, 
An'  ye  do  love  me.     Blood  would  come  on  't, 
And  all  the  world  would  hear  the  tale, 
And,  outwardly  deploring,  relish  the  scandal. 

Anselm.     Lotulf,    Alberic,    ye   hear   what   our 
good  bishop  says  ? 
Wilt  swear  not  to  prate  of  this  to  any  ? 

.         -     We  swear  ! 
Alberic.     J 

Fulbert.  I  thank  you  heartily. 

I  do  beseech  ye  dine  with  me  this  day, 

For  I  would  your  counsel  take 

Of  my  niece's  marriage.     I  am  much  distraught, 

But,  nathless,  the  cruel  reason  on  't 


58  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Will  urge  me  to  enforce  obedience 
To  my  behests. 

Anselm.     Enforc'd  obedience  never  yet 
Did  teach  a  lover  to  forget. 

[Exit  omnes. 

Scene  3 

A  street.     The  exterior  of  Fulbert's  house  as  in 
Act  I,  Scene  i. 

(Enter  Abelard  and  Philintus.) 

Philintus.  Prythee,  Abelard, 

Come  here  no  more.     'Tis  a  spot 
Thou  should'st  avoid  like  swift  contagion ; 
'Twas  here  thou  first  did'st  catch  love's  fever. 

Abelard.     Hast  thou  not  heard  that  criminals 
Are  ever  drawn  into  the  spot  where  first 
Their  hands  with  blood  were  dyed  ? 

Philintus.  But  thou — surely  thou 

Wert  never  as  the  common  herd  ? 

Abelard.  Good  friend  ! 

At  one  time  or  other  in  existence 
All  men  pay  tribute 

At  Love's  high  altar.     When  the  sacrifice 
Comes  late  in  life,  why,  then,  'tis  most  severe. 
Philosophy,  wisdom,  learning,  all  are  targets 
At  which  the  little  mocking  god 
Doth  wing  his  most  barb'd  arrows. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  59 

Philintus  {significantly).     His  darts  are  poison' d» 
like  the  Tarantella  sting, 
And  when  they  enter  some  men's  blood 
It  makes  them  mad  indeed. 

Abelard.  He  who  hath  found  love 

Hath  found  he  hath  a  soul. 

Philintus.  Wise  Solomon  and  great  David 

Must  have  been  possess' d  of  many  souls, 
For,  by  Jesu  !  they  had  loves  enow  ! 
Prythee,  Abelard,  break  from  these  shackles  fond ! 
It  grieves  me  much  to  see  that  men  like  Anselm, 
Alberic,  and  Lotulf  scale  scholastic  heights 
Whilst  thou  sitt'st  dreaming !     Nay,  forgive  me  ! 
My  devotion  is  so  strong, 
I  cannot  bear  that  others  should  usurp 
The  rightful  place  which  thou  should' st  grace. 
Thou  art  by  nature  great,  they  but  Art's  poor 

tools  ; 
The  Fates  that  gifted  thee,  made  them  but  fools. 

Abelard.  All  would  I  quick  forego 

Had  I  but  Heloise  ! 

Philintus.     Oh,  this  is  love's  delirium  ! 

{Enter  Agaton,  running.) 

Philintus    {barring    her    way).     Fair    Heloise' s 
woman  ! 
Love's  messenger.  Love's  physician, 
Come  with  a  healing  balm,  a  cooling  mixture, 
Which  takes  its  form  in  billet  shape. 


6o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Whither  so  fast,  good  girl  ? 

Agaton.     I  am  in  haste,  Messire,  to  find — 
No  matter,  I  should  not  tell  you — 
Let  me  pass,  else  my  sweet  mistress 
Will  be  undone. 

Philintus.    The  news  is  sad,  but  'twill  not  kill 
me. 
By  "  undone  "  me  thinks  you  mean 
Her  bodice  is  unlac'd.     I  pray  you,  girl. 
Be  calm ;  these  things  will  happen  oft. 
Now  to  her  shoes,  do  they  fit  properly  ? 

Agaton.  By  "  undone,"   your  lordship, 

I  do  mean  that  they  will  kill  her, 
Archbishop  Fulbert  and  the  rest. 
She  weeps  and  weeps,  and  they  talk  and  talk, 
So  that  I  fear  she'll  melt  away 
In  sorrow's  fiery  smelt ing-pot 
Which  passion  heats  like  furnace. 
Where  is  the  Canon  Abelard  ? 

(Philintus  continues  to  bar  Agaton's  wayy 
and  endeavours  to  prevent  her  from  seeing 
Abelard,  who  wanders  to  and  fro  in  a 
reverie.) 

Philintus.     Abelard  !     Why  !  Abelard  is  dead  ! 
He  died  of  love  an  hour  since  ; 
So  get  thee  gone,  and  tell  them  home. 
Old  Fulbert  will  rejoice! 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  6i 

Agaton.     If  thou  speak  true,  and  he  be  dead 
indeed, 
Oh,  then,  I'll  lay  her  letter  on  his  breast  ; 
So  when  he  wakes  in  kinder  lands  than  this — 
In  which  fond  lovers  are  divid'd  oft — 
'Twill  comfort  him  until  my  lady  follows. 

Philintus.  Give  me  the  letter  ; 

I'll  joyfully  perform  your  solemn  wish. 

Agaton.  Nay,  I  will  not ; 

'Twas  given  me  to  do,  and  I  will  do  it. 

(Philintus  tries  to  snatch  the  letter  from  her, 
Agaton  bravely  defends  herself.  A  struggle 
ensues,  furious  on  the  side  of  the  woman, 
teasingly  good-humoured  on  the  side  of  the 
man.  Abelard  becomes  suddenly  aware  of 
the  contention y  and  goes  to  them.) 

Abelard.     What  !   Agaton,  what,  thou  ? 

Agaton.     God  be  praised  that  you  do  live  ! 
Live,  I  mean,  for  my  dear  mistress'  sake. 
Here  is  a  note  she  bade  me  give  you, 
Ere  Messire  Philintus  told  me  of  your  death. 

{Gives  Abelard  a  letter.) 

Philintus.     If   Abelard   had   dead  and   buried 
been 
Beneath  the  mighty  Pyramids,  on  this  receipt 
He  would  have  risen  from  his  sepulchre  ! 


62  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Thanks,  wench,  I  bear  the  marks  of  thy  attentions ; 
Thy  finger  nails  are  Uke  thy  betters'. 
Long  and  finely  pointed. 

{Examines  the  scratches  Agaton  has  given  him 
in  the  struggle.) 

(Abelard  tears  open  the  missive  Agaton  has 
given  him,  and  reads) : — 

"  False  Fortune  in  extremes  is  ever. 
She  loads  with  fairest  gifts,  then  heaps 
Calamities  most  dire  upon  her  votaries. 
Nor  hell  itself  hath  tortures  so  refin'd  ! 
The  mem'ries  of  dear  pleasures  past 
She  changes  to  a  spring  of  endless  tears  ! 
Under  pain  of  his  displeasure,  my  uncle 
Doth  command  me  wed  the  Prince. 
And  this — before  another  week  be  o'er  ! 
From  this  abhorred  marriage,  save  me,  Abelard  ! 
In  affliction,  as  she  is  in  joy. 

Thy  Heloise." 

Abelard  (to  Agaton).     How  fares  thy  mistress  ? 

Agaton.     But  ill,  an'  it  please  you, 
For  she  doth  naught  but  weep  and  think 
On  thee,  great  Abelard,  and  the  marriage 
They  would  force  her  to. 

Abelard.     Go  !  take  this  message  to  her. 

Agaton.     That  will  I  gladly.  i 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  63 

{Prepares  to  run  off.) 

Ahelard.      Stay  !     Stay  ! 
Thou  know'st  not  yet  what  I  would  say. 
Commend  me  to  thy  mistress,  Lady  Heloise, 
And  to  her  private  ear  this  message  breathe, — 
That  she  should  hie  to-night  with  thee — 
Under  plea  of  going  to  Confessional — 
Unto  Notre  Dame.     Messire  Philintus  here 
Will  be  in  waiting,  and  guide  her  to  my  study. 
There  will  I  offer  her  the  refuge 
Of  a  husband's  name.     I  will  contrive  that 
A  holy  man  shall  marry  us  to-night. 

Philintus  (aside).     Ah  me !  to  see  the  light  of 
Abelard 
Hidden  'neath  a  bushel.     To  be  a  genius 
And  a  married  man  are  things  incompatible. 

Agaton.     Now  blessings  on  thy  pathway  wait  ; 
Not  all  are  good  who  yet  are  great. 

[Exit,  running. 

Philintus  {grumbling).     Woman,  woman  ! 
O  fair  !  O  sweet  !  O  "  something  "  woman  ! 
Heav'n  hath  not  such  pow'r  of  doing  good 
As  ye  all  have  of  doing  grievous  ill. 
O  Love  !  not  all  the  mischief  done  by  Hate 
Can  o'er  top  thy  work  ! 

Ahelard.  Thou  know'st  not 

What  it  is  to  love  ! 


64  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Philintus.     I    am    too   wary    of    that     same 

affliction  ; 

I  see  its  ill  effects  too  well  in  others. 

\Exeunt, 

Scene  4 

A  part  of  the  interior  of  Notre  Dame, 
showing  a  passage,  also  a  recess  that  is 
screened  off,  fitted  as  a  study.  Shelves  of 
volumes  fill  the  walls,  hut  otherwise  it  is 
meagrely  furnished  with  a  few  chairs,  and 
a  desk  at  which  Abelard  is  sitting,  writing 
by  the  light  of  a  lamp.  Beside  him  is  an 
emblem  of  mortality  in  the  shape  of  a  skulL 
Vespers  are  being  sung. 


'Gainst  earthly  passions,  Jesu,  pray 
Deliver  us  by  night  and  day  ! 
Unlink  those  fearful  chains  that  hold 
Men  to  lust  and  thirst  of  gold. 

Miserere  Domine  I 


When  our  eyes  to  Thee  we  raise 
In  mute  appeal  or  thankful  praise, 
O  teach  us  that  our  pray'r  should  be 
Devoid  of  base  hypocrisy. 

Miserere  Domine  i 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  65 

3 

All  worldly  pleasures  turn  to  pain, 
They  fly  and  never  come  again  ; 
But  they  who  suffer  here  below, 
Hereafter  endless  joy  shall  know. 

Miserere  Domine  I 

4 
'Gainst  earthly  passion,  Jesu,  pray  ; 

Deliver  us  by  night  and  day ! 
Unlink  those  fearful  chains  that  hold 
Men  to  lust  and  thirst  of  gold. 

Miserere  Domine  ! 

(The  Choir  ceases.) 

Ahelard  {musingly,  as  his  pen  falls  from  his 
hand).     "  'Gainst  earthly  passions,  .  .  . 

Deliver  us  by  night  and  day !  "  .   .  . 

What  makes  these  words  to  dwell  upon  my  mind  ? 

Passion — we  pray  from  passions  to  be  free  ! 

But  Passion  is  not  Love,  yet — where's  the  differ- 
ence ? 

Methinks  that  Passion  is  ephemeral,  gross,  and 
carnal, 

An  earthly  flow'r  grown  in  earth 

And  fed  on  all  that's  earthly. 

But  Love  is  Heaven's  plant,  and  nurtur'd  is 

By  noble,  pure,  and  selfless  thoughts. 

E 


66  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

What  is  Fame  unto  sweet  Love  compar'd  ? 

Love  is  peace ;  Ambition  but  a  struggle, 

A  shadow  that  eludes  the  grasp  of  man 

And  lures  him  to  the  grave  with  empty  promises. 

How  glittering  is  thy  strife,  O  Glory  ! 

But  thy  victim's  groans  are  drown'd 

By  the  shouts  of  thy  few  conquerors  ! 

Pre-eminence  once  lost 
Is  like  the  gloom  of  Tartarus.     Ambition's  narrow 

way 
Lies  block' d  and  strewn  with  bloodless  forms, 
Scorch' d    to   nothingness    by    calumny    and   in- 
justice. 
Ambition's  hand  will  oft  lead  men  astray ; 
'Tis  Love  alone  that  truly  points  the  way. 

{Resumes  his  writing.) 

(Philintus  enters,  leading  Heloise,  in  a  mantle 
and  hood,  toward  the  recess  in  which 
Abelard  is  writing.) 

Philintus  (coldly).     Here,  Madam,  here  is  the 
room  of  Abelard, 
Abelard  who  once  was  great, 
But  shall  soon  be  so  no  more. 
Fame  must  fly  when  Love  goes  in  th'  door. 

Heloise.  You  are  his  friend  ; 

Then  stay  you  here  and  listen.     His  renown 
Is  as  dear  to  me  as  ever  'twas  to  you. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  67 

(Heloise  enters  Abelard's  room.  Philintus 
accepts  her  invitation,  and  waits  outside 
to  hear  the  interview.) 

Ahelard  (to  himself).     I  cannot  think.     I  cannot 
even  write 
Aught  but  "  Heloise  "  upon  these  pages  white. 
I  close  mine  eyes,  and  see  her  picture  rare. 
Delightful  dream  !  illusion  fond  and  fair  ! 
Alas !  that  when  I  open  them  again, 
The  mocking  vision  leaves  but  mem'ry's  pain  ! 

Heloise.     Abelard  ! 

Ahelard  (starting  from  his  reverie).     My  Heloise  ! 

Heloise.     Here   is   my   refuge   and    my   haven 
sure ; 
Here  in  thy  arms  all  ills  I  could  endure. 

Ahelard  (emhracing  her).     Dear  heart, 
E'en  our  undying  love  must 
By  the  Church  be  bless' d. 
A  holy  friar  will  shortly  join  us, 
And  sanction  with  all  pious  rite  our  union. 

Philintus  (who  is  listening  outside,  contemptu- 
ously).    Here  comes  her  chance  to  weep 
and  sigh. 
To  murmur,  "  Why  dost  thou  love  me — why  ?  " 
Oh,  wedd'd  bliss  !  what  woman  yet 
Would  miss  that  hap  to  make  men  fret  ? 

Heloise.  Hath  not  love  more  pow'r  than 
bonds 


68  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

To  keep  our  hearts  united  ?     Why  should  I 
Arrest  thy  learning's  great  advancement  ? 
A  man  of  wisdom  needs  not  wife 
To  harass  him  with  details  daily, 
To  weary  him  with  trite  and  stale  accounts — 
How  Betty  broke  the  milking-stool,  or 
That  Jacques'  first  teeth  are  coming  hard 
With  fits  and  fever,  and  a  thousand  facts 
Which  wedd'd  life  is  father  to.     O  Abelard  ! 
Shun  that  iron  contract  men  call  marriage, 
Which,  like  a  millstone  round  the  neck  of  love, 
Crushes  all  the  life  therefrom  ! 

Abelard.     Impossible !     my  love  could  never 
change. 

Heloise.     Others,  too,  have  thought  like  thee, 
my  Abelard  ; 
Yet  marriage  aye  hath  prov'd  the  tomb  of  love, 
Which  fact  hath  built  o'er  tenderness  and  truth. 
Tell  me,  will  it  make  thy  love  more  strong 
That  a  priest  may  say  a  well-learned 
Lesson  o'er  us  ?     Can  he  let  and  license 
That  affection,  which  great  God  implant' d  has 
Within  our  souls — a  counterpart  of  that 
Which  is  on  high  ?     Man's  nature 
Rebelleth  most  when  most  'tis  forc'd. 
Thou  wilt  not  love  me  more,  nay,  not  so  much^ 
When  thou  hast  sworn  to  be  my  husband. 
Ah  !  many  a  dame  knows  to  her  cost 
That  love  in  marriage  oft  is  lost. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  69 

Abelard.  I  do  entreat  thee,  Heloise, 

Persist  not  in  this  strange  fantasy. 

Heloise.      Marriage    is   a   bond   fatal   to   phil- 
osophers. 
The  cries  of  children  and  many  an  unwrit  family 

care 
Oft  mean  a  great  man's  ruin. 

Abelard.     Great  !     I  shall  be  great 
When  thou  with  me  dost  link  thy  fate. 

Heloise.     'Tis  not  a  woman's  happiness  quite 
To  be  a  great  man's  mate.     I  do  bethink 
That  poor  Xantippe  not  worse  than  others  was. 
History   relateth   not    her    griefs,     but   those   of 

Socrates.  ^ 

He  was  much  away  from  her — sat  at  Philip's 
Regal  table,  and  did  love  to  see  his  dancers ; 
Also  much  affected  fair  Aspasia's  company, 
Who  all  the  world  in  Pericles'  name  did  rule. 
'Twas  not  for  faithful  wives  that  men 
Their  mighty  deeds  accomplish' d,  and 
Undying  fame  and  glory  won. 

Abelard.     I  begin  to  love  Xantippe  ; 
Sure  ne'er  shrew  had  such  a  lovely  pleader 
Ere  thou  becam'st  her  advocatus  Diaboli. 

Heloise  (lightly).     A  wife's  rebuke,  or  word  in 
haste, 
Is  never  to  a  husband's  taste  ; 
And  yet  a  low-born  mistress  may 
What  she  lists  full  freely  say, 


70  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  from  her  lover  all  the  while 
Gain  a  fond,  approving  smile. 

Philintus  (outside).     Who  would  think  that  face 
enshrin'd 
Such  a  bright  and  fearless  mind  ? 
Truly  old  Sophocles  said, 
"  Wisdom's  in  the  youngest  head." 

Ahelard.     Belov'd,  there  is  but  one  escape 
From  a  union  with  the  hated  Prince : 
'Tis  by  our  marriage. 

Heloise.     If  there  be  no  other  way,  why  then, 
adieu  ! 
Too  fondly,  dearest  Abelard,  I  love  thee, 
To  see  the  eyes  grow  chill  where  once  affection 

shone  ! 
The  best  of  husbands  alter  :  lovers  are  our  own. 

Abelard.     Did  not  Orpheus  to  Hell  descend 
His  wife  to  regain  ? 

Heloise.    Widowers  will  not  e'en  to  Paradise  rise 
To  seek  for  theirs  ! 

Philintus  (outside).     O  most  excellent  wench  ! 
Were  all  women  of  thy  mould, 
How  many  men  would  rush  into  the  noose 
That  they  now  fain  would  'scape ! 

Abelard.     Love  e'er  distrustful  is. 
Wert  thou  mine  with  the  Church's  blessing 
I  would  not  apprehensive  be. 

Heloise.     Thy  very  apprehension  I  would  ever 
keep. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  71 

Custom  would  make  e'en  Venus  self 

Grow    stale    and    homely.     Will    the    Church's 

blessing 
Ward  off  the  curse  of  habit  ? 

Ahelard.     'Tis  strange  thy  conduct  should  be 

right  in  all, 
And  yet  thy  arguments  so  wrong  in  this. 
But  come  with  me  and  look  upon  the  stars, 
And  'neath  their  holy  glances  will  I  strive 
To  turn  thy  thoughts  toward  mine  own. 
There  is  a  turret  yonder  where  thou'lt  see 
Heav'n  gazing  down  with  all  her  eyes  on  thee. 

{They  pass  out.  The  church  bell  rings  loudly 
for  visitors  to  depart.  Agaton  comes  on 
the  scene,  and  approaches  Philintus  in 
affright.) 

Agaton.     What  mean  these  bells  ? 
I  know — and  yet  I  fear  to  think  it. 
Oh,  that  my  mistress  would  return, 
So  we  might  fly  from  here  ! 

Philintus  (philosophically).      "Fly"  is  a  good 
word,  wench. 
r  faith,  ye'll  need  some  wings  methinks, 
To  steer  ye  clear  from  hence. 
I  fear  the  gates  are  closing. 

(Enter  Friar  Bonhomme.) 


72  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Bonhomme  (suspiciously).     Who  is  this  woman  ? 

Philintus.     My  sister,  good  brother. 

Bonhomme    (briefly).     The    gates    will    close. 
Deus  vobiscum ! 
Prythee,  know'st  thou  where  they  are 
I  am  commanded  here  to  marry  ? 
The  learned  Abelard  hath  bespoke 
This  night  my  service  for  his  'pousals. 

Philintus.      Ho !     That     little     matter !      To 
think  on  't ! 
Why,  man  !  know'st  thou  not  what  genius  is, 
How  first  it  will,  and  then  it  will  not  ? 
Since  thou  hast  seen  him  last. 
He's  changed  his  mind  and  forsworn 
All  marriage  in  this  life. 
''Tis  a  little  matter,  as  I  have  said, 
And  is  not  worth  the  thinking.     Prythee, 
Take  my  sister  Marie  here 
And  show  her  to  the  gates. 

[Exit. 

Bonhomme.     Good  lack  !     Church   and   State 
alike  would  starve 
If  they  relied  on  genius  !     Out  on  them, 
Say  I,  the  shiftless  good-for-nothings  ! 


[Bells  ring  again. 


Agaton.     Prythee,  Father, 
Lead  me  to  the  gates. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  73 

Bonhomme  (insinuatingly).     Sweet  is  the  name 
of  Marie, 
And  matched  well  to  thy  pretty  face. 

Agaton.  I  am  not  Marie, 

And  I  would  be  gone. 

Bonhomme.     Deus  vobiscum,  my  fair  maid  ; 
Wilt  come  with  me  unto  my  cell. 
And  there  I'll  show  thee  wonders  many  ? 

(Tries  to  take  her  hand.) 

Agaton.     If  thou  dost  not  show  me  hence, 
I'll  call  so  loud  that  e'en  the  bells' 
Brazen  tongues  will  cease  'fore  mine  ! 

Bonhomme.     Come  on,  come  on,  I'll  show  the 
way ; 
Anything  but  scandal,  pray. 

Agaton.     Ay,  and  no  pranks,  good  Friar,  ere  we 
part. 
For,  see,  I  carry  my  stings  !        [Shows  her  nails. 

Bonhomme.     Come  away,  I  say  ; 
I  want  to  love,  and  not  to  fight. 

Deus  vobiscum  ! 

[Exeunt. 

(The  third  and  last  peal  of  the  hells  is  heard,  and 
the  clang  of  the  iron  gates  being  closed.  The 
vespers  sound  in  the  distance.) 

"  From  earthly  passions,  Jesu,  pray 
Deliver  us  by  night  and  day." 


74  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Enter  Abelard  and  Heloise.) 

Abelard.       God !      Hark !      The    final     peal, 
O  Heloise  ! 
The  gates  are  bolted,  and  the  friar 
Is  not  here  !     'Tis  terrible  ! 
'Tis  terrible,  my  sweet,  for  thee  ! 

(The  Choir  sings  in  hushed  cadence.) 

"  All  worldly  pleasures  turn  to  pain  ; 
They  fly  and  never  come  again." 

Abelard.     Thy  reputation  and  thy  fair  fame 
Are  closed  with  these  gates.     And  I, 
Who  never  thought  to  do  thee  harm, 
Have  wrong' d  thee  'yond  redemption  ! 

(Sinks  despairingly  into  his  chair.) 

Heloise.     The  mortal  part  of  me  is  barr'd  with- 
out, 
But  here  my  soul  and  spirit  kneel. 

(Kneels  at  Abelard' s  feet,  who  takes  her  in  his 
arms.  The  Choir  in  still  more  hushed 
cadence  sings.) 

*'  Break  thou  these  fearful  charms  that  hold 
Men  to  lust  and  thirst  of  gold. 

Miserere  Domine !  '^ 


Act  III 


ACT    III 

Scene  i 

An  apartment  in  Archbishop's  Fulbert's  house. 
FuLBERT  is  seated  in  melancholy  reverie,  and 
Alberic  and  Lotulf  stand  near  him,  casting 
looks  of  hypocritical  sympathy. 

Fulbert  (rousing  himself).     Good  friends,  your 
countenances, 
On  which  deceit  could  ne'er  be  writ, 
Too  plainly  tell  me  that  ye  bring  no  news 
Of  her  I  loved  so  well.     Yet,  'tis  kind 
Of  ye  to  come  and  bear  an  old  man  company. 
How  long  is  it  since  Heloise  did  leave 
My  heart  and  roof  in  loneliness  ? 

Alberic.     'Tis  gone  a  month,  my  lord. 

Fulbert.     A  month  to  all  the  world, 
But  oh  !  an  age  to  me. 

Lotulf.     Would  that  we  had  news  to  bring  ! 
But  in  default,  good  lord,  accept 
Our  tender  sympathy. 


78  ABELARD  AND  HEL0I5E 

Fulbert.  Grief  hath  this  one  solace  :  'tis  only  then 
We  know  the  stuff  of  which  our  friends  are  made. 
But  who  had  thought  she  would  have  gone  ? 
Gone  without  a  sign  or  single  word  ! 
I  cradl'd  her  within  these  wither' d  arms, 
And  croon' d  in  broken  tones  her  baby  songs. 
Yet  still — this  all  is  nothing. 
Our  life  is  nothing,  and  our  hopes  are  nothing, 
And  nothing  are  we  in  the  grave. 

Alberto .     I  pray,  now  she  has  fled,  Z. 
That  she  hath  truly  wed  her  lover.     3 

Fulbert.     If  I  find  it  be  not  so, 
'Twill  be  a  day  of  sorrow  for  them  both. 

(Enter  Anselm  hurriedly.) 

Anselm.  News  !  news  ! 

But  ere  I  paint  my  picture  for  thine  eyes, 
Fulbert,  thou  must  promise  me, 
By  our  friendship  and  thy  high  dignity. 
To  call  in  play  an  old  man's  calm, 
And  patient  be  unto  the  end. 

Fulbert  [tremulously).     Where  is  she  ? 
And  fares  she  well  ? 

Anselm.     Too  well,  alas  !  too  well  ! 
Better  dead  than  be  as  she  now  is.  N 

These  nights  and  days  full  many  a  trusty  spy 
Of  mine  has  searched  all  Paris  for  thy  niece. 
Alas  !  that  she  should  be  akin  to  thee  ! 
Just  an  hour  by  the  clock  there  came 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  79 

A  hasty  messenger  like  Mercury  for  speed, 
And  as  tho'  his  feet  were  helped  with  wings, 
To  tell  me  what  he  found.     It  seems 
That  Abelard  doth  own  a  small  secluded  house 
Near  the  city  wall,  and  within  this  cage 
The  once  pure  dove,  thy  Heloise,  doth  reign. 
His  mistress.     She  ne'er  walks  abroad — 
So  the  gossip  told  him — but  at  night, 
Stealthily,  like  criminals,  they  together  roam. 
Their  arms  entwined,  their  voices — faces — all 
Bespeaking  their  delight. 

Fulbert.     God's  curses  rain  upon  them  ! 
Kind  Anselm,  good  Anselm,  it  yet  may  be 
Not  so  ill  as  thou  dost  think  it. 
Mayhap  the  Church  hath  wedd'd  them  ! 

Anselm.  Alas,  my  friend  ! 

E'en  that  one  consolation  is  denied 
Thee  in  thy  affliction  deep.     They  are  not  wed. 

Fulbert.     Oh,  friends  !  if  such  ye  be  in  truthj 
Stand  not  here  in  parley  vain ;  but  come  ! 
Give  me  some  weapons,  that  I  may 
Strike  this  villain  Abelard  to  death. 
Bestir  ye  !  'tis  not  because  my  years 
Are  great,  my  soul  is  old.     Volcano  like 
Th'  vitality  of  injur'd  men  bursts  forth  in  flames 
When  'tis  thought  extinct.     My  weapons,  I  say.  ,/' 
x\nd  those  who  love  me,  follow  me ! 

Anselm.  I  pray  thee 

Calm  thy  wrath  unseemly. 


8o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Fulbert.     Had  thine  own  honour's  stronghold 
Thus  assailed  been,  thy  doting  heart  so  stabb'd, 
Thou  hadst  not  talked  of  wrath  unseemly 
In  measured  tones.     Were  my  case  thine, 
Thou  would'st  have  sought  for  vengeance 
E'en  as  I  do  now. 

Anselm.     Again,  I  pray  thee,  calm  thyself,  good 
Fulbert, 
For  nought  that's  well  done  ever  was 
Accomplished  in  a  fume.     I  have  a  plan 
Of  higher  vengeance  for  thee,  man. 
Passion's  weapons  are  for  boys  to  use. 
But  men,  whose  blood  is  chilled  by  winters  many. 
Have  cooler  brains  to  work  withal. 

Alheric.     I  beseech  you,  noble  Fulbert, 
Be  counsell'd  by  the  Bishop  Anselm, 
Who  has  your  good  at  heart. 

Lotulf.     I  join  my  prayer  to  Alberic's  ; 
He  who  hastens  slowly,  hastens  truly. 

Fulbert.     Alas  !  ye  all  have  noble  hearts 
Save  him,  the  wolf  who  stole  my  lamb. 
Bear  with  me  ! 

Anselm.     Listen  to  me!     My  counsel's  briefly 
this. 
That  thou  and  I,  and  these  two  abbots  worthy. 
Should  these  heartless  lovers  surprise. 
And  arm'd  with  a  guardian's  right,  thou  canst 
Remove  the  guilty  girl  from  Abelard's  reach, 
While  yet  her  sin  is  green. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  8i 

Alberic.     Abelard  will  not  submit. 

Anselm.  Force  must  be  used. 

We'll  rouse  all  Paris  'gainst  him  ! 

Fulbert.     We  can  snatch  her  from  the  offender. 
But  not  her  soul  from  the  offence. 
When  Vice  once  charms  a  nature  fine, 
The  chalices  of  saints  distasteful  grow. 

Anselm.     I  chanced,  before  I  hither  came,  to 
meet 
The  Prince  Amadeus.     He  broods  and  raves, 
Then  raves  and  broods,  on  his  elusive  fair. 
He  swears  to  be  avenged  on  Abelard. 

Fulbert.     Then   he    doth   know   the   shameful 
truth  ? 

Anselm.     Evil   news   is   quickly   spread ;     the 
good 
Oft  needs  twice  telling  to  be  known. 

Fulbert.  What  says  he  ? 

Anselm.     Once  avenged  on  the  guilty  Abelard, 
He  still  would  wed — such  is  his  love — 
Thy  frail  but  lovely  niece. 

Fulbert.     Noble-hearted  youth,  who  follows  in 
the  steps 
Of  his  great  Master,  and  the  woman  pardons 
Taken  in  fell  sin  ! 

Anselm.     I  have  bidden  him  come  hither. 
He  shall  go  with  us,  if  it  please  thee ; 
But  he  must  vow  to  put  a  bridle  to  his  tong"ue. 
Else  he  must  stay  behind. 

F 


82  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Alheric  (aside  to  Lotulf).    What  wants  he  with 
the  Prince 
If  he  may  not  speak  ? 

Lotulf.     Know'st  thou  not  the  cunning  Anselm  ? 
He  is  a  dainty  feeder,  and  in  his  stews 
He  hkes  variety  of  spice  to  lend  them  flavour. 

Fulbert.    Come !  let's  meet  the  Prince  half-way ; 
Then  ho  !  for  vengeance  on  the  traitor. 

Anselm   (suavely).     Not   vengeance,   my   good 
brother ; 
'Tis  justice  thou  wouldst  have — justice, 
Nothing  more  !     Vengeance  is  profane. 

Fulbert  (impatiently).    Call  it  what  it  pleases 
thee. 
But  Vengeance  still  it  is  with  me. 
If  I  am  stung,  feel'st  thou  the  pain  ? 
If  thou  art  hurt,  should  I  complain  ? 
To  know  thyself  be  aye  thy  boast ; 
He  best  can  judge  who  feels  the  most. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  2 

A  chamber  in  Abelard's  house.    Abelard  has 
been  reading  aloud  to  Heloise,  who  sits    on 
a  stool  at  his  feet. 
Heloise.    Oh,  my  belov'd,  close  the  book  ; 
Let  us  no  more  the  words  of  others  use 
When  we  have  still  our  own.     I'd  sooner  list 
Unto  the  meanest  talk,  so  it  be  thine, 
Than  all  the  wisdom  of  great  Solomon. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  83 

Ahelard.     Dost   thou   know   what   Ovid   says, 

my  pearl  ? 
Heloise.     A  tender  word  of  thine  own  com- 
position 
Is  far  more  worth  to  me  than  all 
His  wit,  pleasing  tho'  it  be. 

Ahelard  (still  looking  at  the  hook,  reads)  "  Mori- 
bus  et  forma  conciliandus  amor," 
Love  must  attracted  be  by  beauty, 
Both  of  mind  and  body. 

Heloise.     That  is  love's  dissection. 
Men  cease  to  love  when  they  do  analyse. 

Ahelard  (reading).     "  Ut  ameris,  amabalis  este," 
To  be  loved,  one  must  be  lovable. 

Heloise.     E'en  so.     Heat  attracts  heat,  as  fire 
doth  fire. 
So  love  draws  love. 

Ahelard   (casting  the   hook    aside).       'Tis    said 
Ambition  puts  to  flight  the  little  god, 
But  he  in  turn  doth  drive  Ambition  hence, 
For  Fame  reigns  paramount.     Since  Love 
Hath  me  a  captive  ta'en,  my  thirst  for  pow'r 
Hath  died  away.     Full  many  a  gallant  knight 
Hath  cast  aside  his  helm  and  hauberk  bright 
In  the  battle  lists  of  Life,  to  dream  away 
The  peaceful  years  entwin'd  by  peaceful  love. 
Heloise.     Speak  not  thus,  my  Abelard  1     I  am 
thy  faithful  page. 
To  urge  thee  on  to  conquer  in  the  strife, 


84  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  not  to  sleep  in  sluggard  rest  thy  intellect 
away. 

(A  street  crier  in  the  streets  is  heard  shouting, 
"  WhoHl  buy,  who'' II  buy  my  verses  on  the 
loves  of  Abelard  and  Heloise — the  famous 
Abelard  and  the  fair  Heloise?  WhoHl 
buy  my  verses  ?  "  The  street  crier^s  voice 
dies  away  in  the  distance.  Abelard,  with 
an  expression  at  once  pained  and  sorrowful, 
looks  pityingly  at  Heloise.) 

Abelard.     Oh,   love !     thou   hast     grown   poor 

indeed, 
When  such  lips  do  call  aloud 
Thy  fair  pure  name  for  public  comment : 
That  name  which  I  have  stol'n  from  thee 
Like  a  reckless  thief  who  thinks  of  naught 
But  self-enrichment.     Would  that  I 
Had  closed  my  eyes  and  heart  to  all  thy  charms, 
And   but   remained  thy   friend  !     For  friendship 

never 
Injures  those  we  love  ;    which  love  ne'er  fails  to 

do. 
Heloise.     My  love  is  like  a  refuge  safe,   and 

harbours 
No  regrets  in  all  these  tempests  petty 
That  human  spite  can  scheme.     Mj^  love 
Is  built  upon  a  rock  which  no  storm  can  shake 
Or  thunders  cause  to  tremble. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  85 

Dost  think  a  puff  of  wind  can  quake  the  Pyramids, 
Or  hurricane  loose  Hesp'rus  from  on  high  ? 
Let  all  France,  and  not  one  poor  weak  voice, 
Cry  out  about  our  love,  and  I  will  stand 
Here  by  thy  side,    and    say,    "  Well    said,    my 

country  !  " 
Or  like  fond  echo,  taking  up  their  strain, 
Resound  the  words  a  thousand  times  again. 

Abelard.  How  I  do  love  thee  ! 

Witness,  ye  hours,  and  ye  nights  and  days, 
That  flitt'd  have  like  shadows  of  a  dream, 
That  all  my  work  it  is  to  count  thy  looks ; 
My  seasons  are  thy  smiles,  thy  tears  and  words  ; 
The  days  change  to  weeks,  and  flutter  hence  like 

birds 
Of  Paradise  upon  the  western  breeze. 
The  sun  doth  watch  me  loving,  then  the  moon 
Relieves  his  weary  looking  on.     But  ev'ry  day 
To  me  is  though  I  saw  thee  first — belov'd ! 

(Heloise  and  Abelard  embrace  tenderly.  Dur- 
ing this  episode  Philintus  steps  in  the 
apartment  softly,  unseen  by  the  lovers.) 

Philintus    (aside).     Faith !    I    could    outswear 
Satan  at  my  folly 
That  I  did  stay  the  friar  from  their  marrying. 
Had  this  been  done,  these  amorosities  had  ceased 
By  now.     A  man  could  only  thus  embrace 


86  ABE  LARD  AND  HE  WISE 

Uncertainty,  or  a  mistress  fair.     Marriage 
Is  a  game  of  chance,  which,  were  women  wise, 
None  would  play  at. 
(Aloud)  Abelard,  I  beg 

A  moment  with  thy  private  ear. 

Abelard  {turning  towards  him,  not  without  some 
confusion).     Dear  Philintus,  is  it  thou  ? 

Philintus.     'Tis  a  brave  likeness  of  Philintus, 
If  I  be  not  he. 

Abelard.     Any  news  astir  ? 

Philintus.     I've  come  to  tell  it  thee, 
If  fair  Heloise  will  but  grant  me  leave. 

Heloise.     We  have  a  common  cause  to  serve : 
You  with  friendship,  and  I  with  love.  [Exit. 

(Abelard  seats  himself  in  an  armchair ;  Phil- 
intus stands  behind  him  and  rests  his  elbow 
on  the  back.) 

Abelard.  Well,  out  with  thy  news  ! 
Could  it  not  have  bided,  or  didst  fear 
It  had  in  an  hour  grown  stale  ? 

Philintus.  Hear  me  first, 

And  keep  thy  jests  till  afterwards. 

Abelard.     How  grave  thou  art,  Philintus  ! 
Perchance  thou  hast  not  supp'd  ? 
A  hungry  man  is  always  mad  or  melancholy. 

Philintus.     Heigho  !  I  have  no  list  to  eat. 

Abelard.     'Tis  a  bad  sign. 
Perchance  thou  art  in  love  ? 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  87 

Philintus.     I  never  fall  so  deep 
But  I  can  eat  and  sleep  my  fill. 

Ahelard.     Certes !     Thou    art    as    grave    as    a 
churchyard  ; 
What  ails  thee,  man  ? 

Philintus  {aside).     Oh,  that  I  could  wake  the 
ambition  of  thy  soul. 
Which  thou  art  killing  in  love's  lethargy  ! 
Man  yearns  for  that  which  is  denied  him, 
And  I  love  that  which  I  did  ne'er  possess — 
Much  learning.     I  see  it  d5nng  in  thy  heart, 
And  feel  as  though  a  darling  child  of  mine 
Was  being  slain  by  murderous  hands  ! 
Ahelard  (yawning).     I  wait. 
Philintus  (aloud).     Thou  know'st  that  I  keep 
watch  for  thee. 
I    just    have    learnt     that     what     ye     do,     all 

know  ; 
All  Paris  sings  about  thy  love. 

Ahelard.     A  street  hawker  did  cry  the  song 
Beneath  our  very  window  even  now. 
Is  this  thy  wondrous  news  ? 

Philintus  (aside).     He  shows  no  more  amaze 
than  I  had  said, 
*'  I  hear  the  snowy  Alps  are  passing  cold," 
Or  that  "  fire  is  hot,"  that  "  winds  do  blow," 
Or   "  water's  wet,"    or    any    of    those    thousand 

platitudes 
That  daily  life  is  charged  with. 


88  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Aloud)     'Tis  not  all.     Dost  remember  thy 

Great  work  on  "  Man's  Equality  "  ? 

Abelard  (warming  to  the  subject  as  he  speaks  of 
it).     The  one  I  took  five  years  to  write  ? 

Which  was  my  labour  night  and  day, 

In  which  I  strove  all  men  to  teach 

That  newer  thought  doth  wisdom  bring. 

I  tried  to  show  that  musty  rules 

That  dogmas  of  the  schools  worn  out 

Should  be  foregone  ;   and  from  the  dust 

Of  bigot  and  pedantic  lore 

Phoenix-like  there  should  arise, 

Clear  and  bright  as  light  of  day, 

This  highest  of  all  earthly  creeds — 

That  truest  prayVs  are  noble  deeds. 

Philintus  (bending  over  the  back  of  the  chair, 
and  speaking  with  deliberate  emphasis).  Thy 
enemies  in  thy  absence  here 

Have    all    attacked    thee.     With    damning    im- 
putations, 

As  false  as  they  are  cunning,  with  truth 

And  lying  strangely  wedd'd,  they  do  place 

A  purport  on  thy  book  thou  didst  ne'er  intend. 

Thy  favourite  work  so  dear  to  thee, 

Which  cost  three  years  of  labour  and  of  thought, 

Has  been  condemned  and  by  the  Council  spurned — 

It  hath  been  sentenc'd  to  be  burned. 

Abelard  (with  despairing  wildness).  O  Sorrow  ! 
what  are  aU  thy  other  shafts 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  89 

Compar'd  with  this  arrow  from  thy  bow  ? 

My  brain  child  burn'd  !     That  offspring  fair 

With  which  I  travail'd  in  joy  and  pain, 

Like  a  mother  with  her  first-born  son  ! 

My  book,  in  whose  two  covers  beat  my  heart 

And   throbb'd  my  brain — not,  O   Phihntus,  for 

a  selfish  end, 
But  for  enlightment — darken'd  minds  ! 
Philintus  {aside).     Had  I  known  how  he  would 
take  it, 
I  had  not  told  him.     To  gain  our  ends 
We  call  a  whirlwind  to  our  aid 
When  a  puif  of  air  would  answer. 
(Aloud)  Hast  forgotten  Heloise  ? 

Dost  thou  not  love  her  more  than  thy  cold  book  ? 
Abelard  {with  a  certain  irritation  of   manner). 
Certes !     I    love    her,    but    that    love    is 
different  ; 
My  human  love  is  mine  ;  but  my  other  love 
Is  taken  from  me,  and  is  mine  no  more. 
Not  only  is  it  taken  from  me,  but 
It  is  outraged  and  violated.     I'd  rather  had 
My  hand  burn'd  off  than  they  should 
Thus  have  robb'd  my  book  of  virtue  ! 

Philintus.     Abelard  !     take  heed,   I  pray,  the 
angry  Fates 
Do  give  thee  not  more  potent  cause  for  wrath 
Than  thou  now  hast.     I  have  ever  seen 
That  they  who  rave  o'er  little  losses 


90  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Soon  punished  are  with  heavier  crosses. 
(Aside)    To  reproach  I  came  ;  I  stay  to  preach. 

Abelard.       My   book   is  burn'd  !       Freedom's 
spirit 
And  much  other  good  for  man  was  shown 
Between  its  covers  !     War  was  wag'd 
Against  hypocrisy  and  rich  men's  tyranny, 
For  justice  and  the  right  of  intellectual  man 
Against  patrician  brain  and  worthlessness 
Proud  not  of  achievement,  but  of  ancestry. 
Thou   speak' st    as    tho'    I    had    no    cause    to 

grieve, 
As  though  my  work  were  a  tale  about  a  rat. 

Heloise  {from  within).     Abelard  ! 

Abelard  {starting).      Speak  on,  O  my  beloved  ! 
Thy  voice  charms  hence  my  evil  thoughts. 
As  David  sang  away  Saul's  spirit  black. 

Philintus.     Love  her,  for  she  is  worthy. 
But  forget  not  thy  book  burners  ! 

Heloise  {from  within).     Itgroweth  late,  so  let^us 
wander 
In  the  garden  yet  awhile,  for  Luna  soon 
Will  close  her  lamp  and  dim  the  stars 
Like  thrifty  housewife  cautious  of  her  candles. 

Abelard.    Let  moon  and  stars  both   cease  to 
shine 
When  light  glows  from  thine  eyes  divine. 

Heloise  {within).     Nay;   their  light   must   too 
grow  sere. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  91 

When  thou,  their  rival,  dost  appear. 

Philintus  (aside).     His  book  is  burnt  ;  and  his 
love  is  flaming  ! 
He  breathes  an  air  of  fire  like  a  salamander. 

(Loud  knocking  without,  mingled  with  the  sound  of 
tumult,  and  many  voices  in  altercation.) 

Abelard.     Who  is  there  ? 

Philintus.     Ask  rather  who  is  not  there  ? 
By  the  noise,  methinks,  all  Hell  hath  gotten  a 

holiday, 
And  fain  would  spend  it  joUily  with  us. 

(Opens  the  window,  and  calls  down.) 

What  would  ye  ?     Who  are  ye  all  ? 
Belike  ye  are  mistaken  in  locality,  my  friends. 
This  is  not  a  madhouse,  where  fools 
Can  enter  without  reasonable  permit.     Begone  ! 
A  Voice  outside  speaking  in  tones  of  dignity  and 

command.      I  am   Fulbert,  Archbishop   of 

Paris. 
I  seek  admittance,  and  to  see  my  niece 
Who  lives  within  these  walls. 

Philintus.     Thou    may'st    be    Archbishop    of 

Paradise,  i'  faith  ! 
But  no  man  shall  claim  an  entrance  here 
Without    duj    right.      This    house   pertains    to 

one 
Monsigneur  Pierre  Abelard. 


92  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Ahelard.     Fulbert !     Alas  !  I've  wronged  him. 
Grant  him  admittance. 

Philintus.     If    thou   hast  wronged    him,  thou 
shouldst  shun  him, 
Not  invite  him   hither.     There    are    other  mad- 
men. 
Ahelard.  Oh  !  pleasure's  tide 

Hath  e'er  an  ebb  of  sorrow.     The  golden  sands 
Of  happiness  are  mark'd  with  whiten' d  bones  of 

woe. 
There  never  were  two  loving  in  this  life 
But  someone  grieved  to  see  them  so. 
Let  them  all  enter,  good  my  friend ; 
Thus  ills  must  come  and  joys  will  end. 

Philintus    (great    tumult  —  calling    out   of   the 
window).     By'r  Lady  !    if  ye  all  assault'd 
thus 
The  gates  of  heav'n  with  your  virtues 
As  ye  do  our  doors  with  kicks  and  blows, 
We  had  not  need  to  have  so  many 
Priestly  comforters  and  soul  physicians. 
I  come,  ye  wolves,  to  let  ye  in  the  fold  ! 

[Exit. 

(Heloise  enters  in  haste  and  some  alarm.) 

Heloise.     Come  what  may,  they  shaU  not  part 
us, 
For  here  will  I  cling  despite  their  rage. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  93 

Piecemeal  they  may  tear  me  from  thee, 
But  I  will  never  go  until  thou 
Bidd'st  me  hence. 
Ahelard.     They  shall  not  hurt  thee  whilst   I 

live, 
Nor  touch  thee  with  their  impious  hands 
Whilst  I  am  near.     I  shall  thy  buckler  be  and 

shield. 
I — alas  ! — who  have  wronged  thee  most — 
Shall  now  thy  saviour  be.     Would  that  thou 
Hadst  given  me  wedded  right  to  call  thee  mine 
So  none  should  dare  to  wrest  thee  from  me  ! 

(Enter  Fulbert,  Anselm,  Lotulf,  Alberic, 
Amadeus,  Philintus,  and  Citizens.  Abe- 
lard  stands  protectingly  before  Heloise.) 

Fulbert  (in  tones  of  suppressed  rage).     Abelard  ! 
like  a  thief  thou  cam'st  at  night 
And  stole  my  one  ewe  lamb.     I'll  not 
Descant  on  thy  ingratitude,  base  tho'  it  be. 
But  ask  this  simple  thing  of  thee  ; — 
Is  Heloise  thy  leman  wretched,  or  as  an  honour'd 

wife 
Do  I  behold  her  ?     If  the  Church  hath  sanctified 
Thy  union,  I  at  once  will  hie  me  hence, 
And  ere  I  leave,  beg  grace  for  this  intrusion. 

Abelard  (after  a  pause).     Heloise  is  my  spouse 
In  heav'n's  eyes  alone. 


94  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Fulbcrt.     Oh,  vile  seducer  of  the  innocent ! 
Hearken  unto  him,  ye  friends  and  citizens  ! 
He  gloats  o'er  the  wreck  of  virtue  fair. 
Which,  like  a  tempest  foul  and  all-destroying, 
He  alone  hath  compass' d.     Accursed  libertine  ! 
Who  revels  in  the  ruin  he  has  caused, 
And  then  would  gloze  it  o'er  with  canting  piety. 
"  His  spouse  before  the  eyes  of  heaven  !  " 
He  means  his  wife  through  devil's  tricks. 
Too  well  I  know  the  meaning  of  this  treachery. 
She  was  not  highly  placed  enow  to  be  his  spouse  ! 
The  stock  she  sprang  from  was  too  little  known 
To  add  a  lustre  to  the  Canon's  fame. 
And  thus  he  'spouses  her  in  "  heaven's  eyes," 

forsooth, 
For  fear  that  man's  should  be  too  piercing  ! 
Heloise  {tearing  away  from  the  restraining  arms 

of  Abelard,   who  endeavours  to   withhold 

her).     Mine    must    be    the    blame !     And 

shall  I  fear 
To  own  the  laws  that  love,  not  priests,  have  made  ? 
Love  free  as  air,  when  bound  by  earthly  ties, 
Doth  lose  its  charm,  and  like  a  rainbow  fades. 
If  it  were  not   thus,    tame    Hymen  would  not 

show 
That  love's  by  fetters  slain  and  never  fostered. 
Were  Heav'n's  King  Himself  to  offer  me  His  throne, 
For  all  that's  Heaven's  I  would  not  change  my 

love. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  95 

Fulbert.     He  hath  bewitched  her, 
And  much  love  hath  made  her  mad ! 
Oh,  that  those  hps  should  foul  blaspheme 
Which  once  ne'er  moved  except  in  pray'r 
Or  gentle  words  of  wisdom  !     Doubly  accursed 

Abelard, 
To  blast  both  soul  and  body  ! 

Abelard.     I  pray  thee,  Fulbert,  list  to  me  ! 
I  do  love  thy  ward  tenderly,  deeply. 
Devotedly,  passionately,  and  to  espouse  her 
Is  my  ambition's  dream. 

Fulbert.W  Coward  !  Add  that  to  thy  other  sins  ! 
Thou  speak'st  thus  for  thou'rt  afraid, 
Because  I  come  to  wrest  her  from  thee  ! 

Abelard.     Thou  dar'st  not  do  it!     Not  Death 
himself 
Shall  steal  her  from  my  arms ! 

(Heloise  cowers  for  protection,  and  Abelard 
stands  by  her  menacing  those  around.  Phil- 
INTUS,  with  a  half-drawn  weapon,  seems 
disposed  to  attack  any  of  Fulbert's  people 
who  should  make  a  move  in  the  direction 
of  the  lovers.) 

Anselm.    Peace,  my  friends !  tho'  I  own  'tis  hard 
To  stay  your  virtuous  hands  from  doing  hurt 
To  him  whose  crime  so  greatly  merits  punishment 
condign. 


96  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Ahelard.     These  soul-hounds  of  the  Church  ! 
How  loftily  they  deal  with  others'  morals, 
How  lax  and  easy  with  their  own  ! 

Amadeus.     Give  up  this  woman  to  her  kins- 
man, 
Thou  thief  that  stole  her  from  her  rightful  lover  ! 

Abelard.  Thou  prince  of  liars,  she  lov'd  thee  not ! 

Heloise.     Hold,  Prince  !     From  me  you  had  an 
empty  word, 
A  loveless  promise ;  a  shell  without  a  kernel. 

Anselm.     I  have  heard  it  said  that  purest  minds, 
When  once  o'ercast,  have  uglier  bent 
Than  basest  criminals.     Abelard  hath 
Bewitched  her  crystal  thoughts  into 
A  stream  of  turgid  foulness. 

First  at.  (in  the  crowd).     'Tis  certain  that  this 
Abelard' s 
None  other  than  a  wizard. 

Second  Cit.     We  must  look  to  our  own  wives 
and  daughters. 

Third  Cit.     Mark  you  not  that  hellish  fire 
Blazing  from  his  eyes  ? 

First  Cit.     He's  too  handsome  for  a  proper  man. 
I've  heard  tell  the  Evil  One  can  garb 
Himself  in  beauty's  form,  as  we  would 
Clothe  ourselves  in  Sunday  habit. 

Fulbert  (to  Heloise).     I  order  thee  to  come  with 
me 
Unto  my  house,  which  thou  hast  dishonoured. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  97 

If  thy  spirit  still  rebels  against  my  wish, 
1*11  have  thee  dragg'd  like  drink-sod  drab 
Thro'  the  streets  of  Paris.     Thy  paramour 
Shall  taste  the  staves  of  all  our  honest  citizens, 
An'  if  they  but  do  their  duty  he  shall  die  thereof. 

Ahelard.     Old  man  !  thy  threats  fall  idly  on  my 
heart 
Like  snow-flakes  on  the  ground  already  hoar. 
I  fear  not  thee,  nor  all  enraged  France 
Were  she  to  rise  like  Hecate  with  the  Fates 
And  fire-belching  Furies  in  her  wake 
To  seize  and  rend  me  in  such  puny  atomies 
That    the    ocean's    grains    of    sand    were    great 

compared. 
Hath  not  Nature  sentenced  thee  to  death 
E'en  as  thou  wouldst  me  ?     Am  I  dreaming  fool 
That  I  in  death  should  see  aught  save  .^. 

Eternity's  birthday  ?     My  life's  sin  is  that  I  love, 
And  with  that  crime  upon  my  soul,  old  man, 
I'll  speed  unto  those  gracious  regions  where 
That  dear  Lord  who  lov'd  so  well  on  earth 
Shall  judge  me  better  than  ye  do. 

Anselm.     Thou  prat'st  of  love  and  piety 
But  actest  like  a  fiend. 

Alheric.     Shame  upon  thee,  Abelard  ! 
Thou  hast  the  Church  disgraced. 

Lotulf.     Fie  upon  thee  ! 

Ahelard.     Ye  but  a  pretext  make  of  Fulbert's 
grievance 

G 


^8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

To  vent  your  coward  spite  on  me. 

The  fame  that  I  have  gain'd  hath  rous'd 

Inexorable  malice  in  your  breasts, 

And  snake-like  Envy  with  poison' d  tongue  doth 

spit 
Beneath  this  show  of  Fulbert's  cause  espousing. 
Your  falseness  makes  of  Virtue's  self  a  vicious 

thing, 
And  Vice  by  ye  despis'd,  turns  virtuous. 

Fulbert.    Enough  !     Enough  is  said.     Come  ! 

(Heloise  clings  to  Abelard,  butj  surrounded 
and  overwhelmed  by  numbers,  and  despite 
Abelard' s  strenuous  efforts,  she  is  dragged 
away  from  him.  Philintus  vainly  tries 
to  succour  the  lovers,  but  is  himself  over- 
borne.) 

Abelard  (who  is  withheld  by  citizens).     Old  man, 
for  myself  I  would  not  plead 
For  life,  from  e'en  the  cruellest  death 
That  hatred  could  devise ;  but  for  her  I  love, 
I  would  abase  my  manhood's  strength 
Till  saintly  meekness  were  but  pride  compared. 
She  is  the  hapless  victim  of  my  guilt. 
I  alone  have  caused  her  heart  to  stray 
From  the  narrow  path  of  worldly  rectitude. 
Mine  is  all  the  sin,  and  mine  should  be  the  blame, 
If  Justice  be  no  myth,  and  Mercy  but  a  name. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  99 

Heloise.     Not  all  cold  truths  to  heav'n  fly ; 
E'en  angels  love  a  selfless  lie. 

(Heloise  is  by  force  compelled  to  leave  Abelard 
with  FuLBERT  and  Anselm;  Lotulf,  Al- 
BERic,  and  some  attendants  following.) 

Abelard    (who    is    still    withheld    by    citizens). 
Loose  me,  ye  fools  and  knaves  unmannerly ! 
Do  ye  think  that  I  would  be  so  mad 
To  run  out  in  the  streets  and  chase 
The  Lady  Heloise  as  tho'  she  were  a  trull 
And  I  a  braggart  lover  ?     Unloose,  I  say ! 

Amadeus.     If    they    unloose    thee,    thou    wilt 
meet 
With  less  delicate  handling  from  me. 
Thou'lt  fly  from  Scylla  to  Charybdis. 

Abelard.    What,  whelp  !  hast  thou  not  gone 
With  thy  companion  wolves  ? 

Amadeus.  Nay,  nor  like  to,  with  such  carrion 
As  thou  left  for  me  to  feast  on. 

Abelard.  Pah !  shall  I  heed  the  sting  of  a  gnat 
When  my  heart  is  gnawed  by  the  monster  Grief  ? 
Go  thy  ways,  good  youth  ! 

Amadeus.     I'll  give  thee  a  lesson  first  ! 

(Draws.) 

Abelard.  What!  with  that  rod  wouldst  teach 
thy  master  ? 


100  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Philintus.     Here  is  mine  !    Defend  thyself ! 

(Gives  his  weapon  to  Abelard.     They  fight.) 

First  Cit.   Prince  Amadeus  is  a  master  of  the 
rapier  ; 
My  son  who  worketh  at  his  armourer's 
Did  tell  me  so.    He  hath  twenty-five  Toledo  blades, 
An'  a  score  or  so  of  true  Damascus  steel. 

Second  Cit.     And  mayhap  not  master  be  o'  one  ! 
Philintus.    Dost  remember,  Abelard,  that  pretty 
trick 
The    Austrian    fencing-master    taught    thee    in 
Vienna  ? 
Abelard.     Is  this  the  one  thou  mean'st  ? 

(By  a  skilful  thrust  he  sends  Amadeus'  rapier 
spinning  out  of  the  latter'' s  hands.) 

First  Cit.     He  has  him  now  at    his  weapon's 

point. 
Second  Cit.     Like  a  beetle  at  the  mercy  of  a 

schoolboy's  pin. 
Third  Cit.     Will  he  despatch  him  ? 
Amadeus.     I  ask  no  mercy  at  thy  hands. 
Despatch  !  strike  home  !  as  I  would  do 
In  thy  victorious  place. 

Abelard.     My    love    hath    taught    me    to    be 
merciful. 
Take  thy  life,  I'll  none  of  it ! 

[Exit  Abelard. 


Act  IV 


ACT  IV 

(After  three  months.) 

Scene   i 

Lecture-room  in  the  University  of  Paris.  Abe- 
lard  is  sitting  in  his  lecturer^s  chair  with  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands  dejectedly.  Near  him 
stands  Philintus. 

Philintus.     Rouse    thy   spirit,    Abelard !     This 
inanition 
Is  a  moral  decay,  and  thou  art  Hke  fair  fruit 
With  canker  at  its  core.     Soon  the  Council 
And  the  students  will  attend.     Surely  thou 
Wilt  not  deposed  be  without  a  word 
In  refute  of  their  baseless  charges  ? 

Abelard.     There  are  some  calumnies,  my  friend j. 
'Gainst  which  e'en  Innocence  herself 
Would  courage  lose. 

Philintus.     I  pray  thee,  rouse  thyself  ! 

Abelard.     Grant  me  peace,  I  do  beseech  thee. 


104  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Philintus.     Peace  is  gain'd  by  war. 

Ahelard.     I  thirst  to  be  at  peace.     I  yearn  to 
leave 
The  world  and  all  its  troublous  ways  alone. 
Let  the  Council  come,  I've  naught  to  say. 
Oh,  Philintus  !  when  heavy  sorrows  fall, 
They  cover,  like  a  pall,  our  best  endeavours. 
We  still  may  strive,  but  the  freshness, 
The  bloom  of  all  our  brightest  hopes,  is  gone. 
Gone — never  to  return  !     With  heavy  hearts 
And  jad'd  souls  we  plod  and  plod. 
And  yet  each  step  doth  only  bring  us 
Near  to  that  goal  of  all  mortality — the  grave. 

Philintus.     All  this  grieving  for  a  woman  ! 
Which  one  of  them  is  weeping  worth  ? 
Too  well  I  know  their  changing  moods ! 
When  you  will,  they  will  not ; 
When  you  will  not,  then  of  course — they  will ! 

Ahelard.     Three  months  have  pass'd, 
And  ne'er  a  word  from  Heloise. 

Philintus.     The  letters  thou  hast  given  me, 
Faithful  have  I  delivered  to  Agaton, 
Her  woman  ;  who  in  turn  did  vow 
To  give  them  to  her  mistress. 

Ahelard.     Is  it  possible  that  she  could  be  so 
fair 
And  yet  so  false  ? 

Philintus.       Were  she  not  fair,  she'd   not   be 
false. 


ABE  LARD  AND  HEL0I5E  105 

To  be  beautiful,  and  therewith  to  live  in  virtue, 
Savours  more  of  gods  than  of  frail  humanity. 
Ahelard.     Thou  hast  deliver' d  all  my  notes. 
And  I  have  answer  to  not  one  of  them. 
What  countless  pages  I  have  written 
With  passion  so  devouring,  that  methought 
The   words   themselves   had   been   consumed   in 

flames. 
So  burning  did  they  pour  from  out 
My  pierc'd  and  anxious  heart. 
Philintus.     So  thou  who  hast  so  oft  derisively 

describ'd 
The  wiles  of  woman,  art  now  their  slave, 
Caught  in  the  self-same  snare  as  any  dolt 
Who  thinks  there's  truth  in  any  of  their  smiles. 
Their  sex  are  only  great  when  they  work  ill. 
Who  was  it  lost  Paradise  for  us  ?     A  woman. 
Who    caused    the    downfall    of   fair    Troy  ?      A 

woman. 
What  made  wise  Solomon  to  fail  ?     Woman. 
Damnable  !  heartless  !  subtle  woman. 
With  paint' d  face  and  mind  corrupt, 
Innocence  feigning,  whilst  her  scheming  mind 
Outstrips  the  devil's  ! 

Ahelard.     O  Friendship  !  upon  what  dost  thou 

presume  ? 
^Tis  well  thou  art  Philintus  ;  none  else 
Had  dar'd  to  speak  against  the  noblest  heart 
That  ever  beat  on  earth. 


io6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Philintus.     Thus   reason' d   Antony,    and   that 
reason 
Lost  him  all  the  world.     Thus  reasons  Abelard, 
And  that  reason,  or  the  lack  of  it. 
Will  lose  him  all  his  world  as  well. 
Suppose     that    I    were    Abelard,    and    Abelard 

Philintus, 
Then  Abelard  would  say  to  me,  "  Thy  love  hath 

fled. 
Thou  writ'st  to  her,  she  answers  not ; 
Ergo,  pray,  what  love  hath  she  for  thee, 
Who  heeds  thee  not  e'en  tho'  thy  soul 
Writhes  in  hellish  torture  ?  "     Thy  love's  fickle. 
All  things  yield  beneath  Time's  sickle. 
Lovers'  vows,  hopes — beauty — all, 
Ripe  and  unripe,  bow  and  fall ; 
All  things  go  from  whence  they  came. 
And  Death  claims  all  but  shining  Fame. 

Abelard  {meditatively,  with  bitterness).     Fame  f 
'tis  gone  from  me  ; 
They  stole  it  when  they  burned  my  book. 

Philintus.     Build    thyself    another    shrine    of 

glory. 
Abelard.     Life   is   short,   the   world's   injustice 

long. 
Philintus.     The  Council  and  the  students  will 

shortly  come. 
Abelard.     Let  them ;  I  will  hence. 
Philintus.     I  pray  thee,  speak  to  them ; 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  107 

Show  them  that  thy  spirit 

Is  not  quench' d  as  they  would  have  it  be. 

Abelard.     Her     silence    and     my    book's    de- 
struction 
Do  make  me  mad. 

Philintus.     Thy  madness  is  a  silent  one. 

Abelard.     It  sometimes  takes  that  fit. 

Philintus.     Never  have  I  heard  of  it. 

Abelard.     The   ashes   grey   of   love's   neglect' d 
passion  chill 
As  water  thrown   on  fire.     Heloise   hath   grown 
cold. 

Philintus.     But  thy  book  did  ne'er  hurt  thee  t 
Love  and  friendship  often  sever  : 
Books  remain  true  friends  for  ever. 

Abelard.     My  dead  book  bids  me  speak, 
But  fain  would  I  be  dumb. 

(Noise  without.) 

Philintus.     They  come  ! 

(Enter  Anselm,  taking  the  lead  of  the  Council ^ 
followed  by  Students  and  Citizens.) 

Anselm.     Pierre  Abelard  !   thou  art  the  author 
of  a  work  heretical, 
In  which  thou  hast  expound' d  views 
Contrary  to  the  law  and  order  of  things  ordain'd 
These  himdred  years.     Thy  spirit  revolutionary 


io8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Hath  fill'd  the  learned  Council  with  alarm, 
And  they,  the  nation's  guides,  and  I,  their  un- 
worthy chief, 
Do  take  this  opportunity  to  expel  thee 
From  this  great  University.     It  is  decreed 
That  thou  no  more  our  sons  shall  teach 
To  wander  from  the  beaten  paths 
Their  ancestors  did  tread  before  them. 
That  which  hath  suffic'd  for  sire 
Is  surely  good  enough  for  son. 
We  charge  thee,  therefore,  leave  this  place 
For  ever  !     Hast  aught  to  say  in  thy  defence  ? 
Abelard.     Ye  condemn  me  as  a  heretic,   and 
bum  my  book. 
Reversing  law,  ye  sentence  first,  then  call  for  my 

defence. 
If  I  absolve  your  act,  I  blame  myself; 
And  if  I  blame  ye,  I  absolve  myself. 
One  way  I  must  offend.     Yet,  if  I  speak, 
I  must  truly,  or  not  at  all. 
My  heart  is  too  deject' d  far  to  deal  in  quibbles. 
Suffering  and  sorrow  press  the  truth  from  men 
E'en  as  some  flow'rs,  that  more  perfume  yield 
The  longer  they  are  crush' d  :    and  pale  adversity 
Doth  teach  us  more  than  all  the  wisdom 
Of  great  Socrates.     If  I  have  sinn'd,  as  ye  have 

said, 
It  is  unpardonable  ;    and  unpardonably  have  ye 
punish' d  me. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  109 

When  a  malefactor  is  arraign'd  for  treason, 
He  first  is  heard,  and  sentenc'd  afterward. 
Is  there  a  crime  in  Guilt's  long  calendar 
That  places  man  beyond  the  pale  of  lawful 
Justice  ?     If  there  be,  I  am  the  basest  wretch 
That  e'er  disgrac'd  the  bar  of  judgment : 
And  if  the  learned  Council  thus  decree, 
What    weight    has    one    man's    word    against  a 

Council's  ? 
When    I    did   meet    the    wisest   man    of^^every 

land 
That  came  to  France  to  fight  in  learning's 
Tournament,   you    did    not    then   condemn    the 

heretic 
Who   fought   and   won    the    palm   for   France's 

glory ; 
Yet  taught  he  then  the  self-same  thoughts  that 

stand 
Reviled  now. 

First  at.     Abelard  speaks   truly.     My  eldest 

son. 
Who  once  brought  naught  but  sorrow  home 
Unto  his  dam  and  me,  hath  chang'd  since 
He  hath  attend'd  Abelard's  school. 

Second   Cit.     Ay  !     My   Jean,  that  wild  third 

lad  o'  mine, 
Was  once  a  very  fiend  for  stubbornness ; 
But  since  this  Abelard  hath  taught  him, 
He  is  as  mild  as  butter-milk. 


no  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Anselm.     Didst  thou  not  say  in  thy  condemned 
book — 
How  well  do  I  recall  those  words  seditious ! — 
That  people,  by  a  monarch  governed, 
Were  naught  but  slaves,  coerced  to  labour 
In  body  and  mind.     Thou  didst  vituperate 
Inheritance  and  lordly  birth,  and  held 
That  these  were  naught  compar'd  to  man's 
Own  attainments  and  natural  gifts  ? 

Abelard.      My  lord,  I  said  that  labour,  be  it 
what  it  may, 
Is  nobler  than  dull  sloth,  though  that 
Did  flaunt  a  crown,  and  strut  in  purple. 

Anselm.      Further,     thou     didst     write     that 
neither 
King  nor  noble  could  inherit  worth. 
These  be  traitor's  thoughts  in  treason's  words. 
If  a  monarch  be  not  great — who  is  ? 
And  if  our  nobles  be  not  high — who  are  ? 

Abelard.     My  lord,  my  words  were  these  :   not 
ancestry. 
Or    wealth,    or    combination    of    birth's  circum- 
stances 
Can  ever  make  men  great ;  but  work 
And  strenuous  conduct  alone  entitle  man 
To  fame  and  glory. 

Anselm.    Thou    utter'st    treason    'gainst    thy 
King, 
Thy  Church,  and  Constitution. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  iii 

Ahelard.      Better  that,  than  I  should  traitor  be 
unto  humanity. 
Better  rot  in  silence  'neath  the  earth, 
Than  serve  the  god  Hypocrisy. 

Anselm,     A  self -con  vict'd  heretic  and  atheist 

art  thou  ! 
Ahelard.     I  stand  condemn'd  a  heretic,  and  ye 
bum  my  book  ! 
How  can  a  book  so  injure  that  ye  burn  it  ? 
'Tis  a  thing  inanimate,  and  did  not  write  itself. 
If  aught    should    have   been    burnt,   'twas    my 

hand. 
Or  the  conceiving  brain  that  bade  the  hand  to 

write. 
Why  mutilate  the  noblest  part  of  me — 
My  thought — and  let  the  worst  go  free  ? 
Nay !  not  in  my  work  the  potent  evil  lies. 
But  in  the  prejudice  of  cruel,  jaundic'd  eyes. 
Unjust  judges  the  jury  lead  astray  ; 
Humble  virtue  falls,  and  evil  holdeth  sway. 
First  Stu.     'Tis  my  belief,  and  that  belief  is 
strong. 
The  prisoner  is  right,  and  all  his  judges  wrong. 
Second    Stu.     The    Council    all    are    jealous ! 
Envious  old  drones  ; 
Half  of  them  are  stings,  the  other  half  are  bones. 
Third  Stu.     Small  wonder  that  he  looks  so  pale 
and  sad. 
With  such  grief  as  he  has  had  ; 


£12  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Envy  snatches  hence  his  fame, 
Spite  assails  his  once  great  name. 

First  Stu.     Let  the  Council  go  hang  !     We*ll 
none  of  them. 
Abelard  hath  nobly  instruct'd  us,  and  Abelard 
Must  bide  with  us  ! 

Second  Stu.     If  Abelard  be  forc'd  to  leave, 
Let  us  all  follow  him  ! 

Third   Stu.      Bravely    said!     Where    Abelard 
doth  go, 
There  we  shall  have  our  University, 
E'en  tho'  the  green  grass  be  our  floor, 
And  heav'n's  blue  skies  our  vault' d  domes  ! 
Abelard.     Patience,  dear  students   all!     I  can 
but  leave ; 
My  death  is  not  resolv'd  upon. 

First  Stu.     If  thou  dost  leave,  great  Abelard,  I 
swear, 
By  God's  own  might,  to  enter  ne'er 
This  University  again  !     And  ye,  my  brothers. 
What  say  ye  ? 

Students.     We'll  follow  Abelard  I 
First  at.     If  Abelard's  expell'd,  Lwill  with- 
draw my  son. 
Second  Cit.     And  I  mine ! 
Third  Cit.     And  I  ! 

Abelard.     But,    friends,    there    are^' other   pro- 
fessors ! 
First  Stu.     But  none  like  thee  !     If  thou  do  go, 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  113 


A  University  of  wise  professors  will  exist, 
Without  a  student  to  be  taught ! 

Citizens. 

Students. 

Second  Cit.     Out  upon  this  Council  of  evil ! 
Give  'em  a  taste  of  the  tail  o'  th'  Devil. 


I     Ha!     Ha!     Ha! 


(Students  raise  Abelard  on  their  shoulders. 
Some  Citizens  and  Students  shout  and 
hurrah  around  him.  Others  chase  and  heat 
Anselm  and  the  rest  of  the  Council  with- 
sticks  and  cudgels.) 

Scene   2 

An  ante-room  in  Archbishop  Fulbert's  house. 
Anselm,  as  though  by  accident,  meets  Agaton, 
who  endeavours  to  pass  him  hurriedly. 

Anselm.     Whither  so  fast,  wench  ? 

Agaton.     Oh,  my  lord,  I  know  not  how  to  answer 
you; 
Full  of  fears  am  I,  with  what  I  have  perform'd^ 
In  obedience  to  your  stem  behests. 
Heav'n  you  have  promised  me,  and  yet  Hell 
Reigns  in  my  throbbing  breast. 

Anselm  (menacingly).     Wench,  thou  hast  more 
letters ! 
As  thou  valu'st  thy  immortal  soul, 
Deliver  them  at  once  to  me,  else 
E'erlasting  flames  shall  be  thy  lot  hereafter. 

H 


114  ABELARD  AND  HELOISB 

Agaton.     My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you  give  me 
leave 
To  render  but  this  one  to  Lady  Heloise ; 

(Shows  letter.) 

The  only  one,  of  all  the  many  I  have  had 
To  give  her.     Messire  Philintus  told  me 
That  Monseigneur  is  like  to  die  with  grief, 
That  ne'er  one  of  all  his  thousand  letters 
Hath  had  answer.     My  lord,  I  pray, 
Do  grant  me  leave  to  give  her  this. 
And  I  will  to  Purgatory  go  fo't ! 

Anselm.     I  tell  thee  thou  wilt  go  to  Hell 
For  everlasting  ;  and,  e'er  djdng,  still  live  on 
In  immortal  agony.     Give  me  the  letter,  I  say  ! 
Damnation  seize  thee,  wench,  dost  hear  ? 
Abelard's  letters  are  accurs'd,  and  even  I, 
Holy  as  I  am,  do  wash  mine  hands 
Thrice  in  sacred  water  ere  I  touch 
The  godly  things  of  earth  again. 

Agaton  [giving  letter  to  Anselm).    Oh  !  is  there 
grace  in  acting  right, 
When  all  one's  heart  would  fain  do  wrong  ? 

Anselm  (unctuously).     The  path  of  holiness  is 
thorny. 
And  woman's  nature  corrupt. 

( Takes  the  letter ^  and  crosses  himself  devoutly  as 
he  does  so.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  115 

This  act  of  virtue  will  absolve  thee 
Many  a  sin.     Hast  thou,  perchance, 
Another  letter  ? 

Agaton  (beseechingly).     My  lord  ! 

Anselm    {menacingly).      Wouldst    brave    HelFs 
torments,  woman  ? 

Agaton  {giving  another  letter).      Alas!  she  wept 
so  when  she  gave  me  this, 
As  tho',  poor  soul,  her  heart  would  break. 

Anselm.     Will  tears  of  wickedness  allay  the  heat 
Of  thy  parch'd  tongue  when  thou  art  burning  ? 

Agaton  {crossing  herself).     Jesu  !     Marie  ! 

Anselm.     Tell  me  the  truth,  wench  !     Hast  e'er 
Delivered  letter  of  Heloise  to  Abelard  ? 
Are  these  the  first  thou  wouldst  withhold  ? 

Agaton  {trembling).     Since  you  said,  my  lord, 
that  the  Devil 
Would  fetch  me  hence  alive  if  I  but  gave  one, 
I  swear  that  you  alone  have  had  them  all. 

Anselm.     'Tis  well.     Get  thee  to  the  chapel ; 
I'll  shrive  thee  anon  for  thy  concern 
In  this  most  black  affair. 

[Exit  Agaton. 

Anselm.     Foolish  oaf  !  not  thine  is  woman's  art 
Of  deft  hypocrisy,  else  better  hadst  thou  serv'd 

thy  cause. 
Deception  oft  can  work  what  Truth  would  spoil, 
And  Virtue's  reticence  is  Cunning's  opportunity  . 
What  says  Abelard  ? 


ii6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

(Tears  open  one  of  the  letters  given  by  Agaton, 
and  reads)  : — 

"  Beloved,  still  beloved  Heloise  : 

These  lines,  the  last,  are  from  the  hapless  wretch 

Once  by  thee  held  dear  !     Should  my  messenger 

No  answer  bring  to  this  my  missive, 

Then  shall  I  know  that  for  ever  changed 

Is  Heloise  to  me.     Then  will  I 

At  once  the  binding  vows  of  priesthood  take, 

To  render  me  invulnerable  to  thy  deception. 

Alas  !  how  easy  'tis  the  world  to  throw  aside, 

But  oh,  how  difficult  'tis  to  renounce  love  ! 

The  world's  injustice,  its  friendships  feign' d, 

Its  tawdry  pomps  and  aimless  vanities. 

Have  no  charms  for  me.     But  my  soul 

Is  fraught  with  anguish  that  I  must  lose  thee, 

And  as  reason  no  consolation  is  in  despair. 

If  thou  art  silent,  to  Heav'n  I  will  offer 

My  heart's  cold  ashes,  whose  fire  so  brightly  burn'd 

One  time  for  Heloise.  Abelard." 

Anselm.     One  priest  the  more  ! 

(Tears   the   letter   into   fragments   and   puts   the 
pieces  into  his  pocket.) 
What  says  Heloise  ? 

(Opens  the  other  letter,  and  reads) : — 
"  Cruel,  but  well-beloved  Abelard  : 
Thy  silence  has  o'er  whelm' d  my  heart 
With  suffering  and  grief.    Daily  have  I  written  thee 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  117 

For  these  long  months  without  response. 

Were  thy  vows  Hke  the  summer  birds  that  fly 

When  winter's  nigh  ? 

If  thou  art  silent  still,  I  shall  pattern  take 

Of  thy  inconstancy  and  wed  Prince  Amadeus. 

In  pity,  Abelard,  write  one  little  word  to  me. 

The  pray'r  of  all  around  me  is 

That  I  thy  hated  rival  should  espouse. 

The  Pope  himself  enjoins  me  in  a  letter 

To  wed  the  Prince  for  fear  of  his  displeasure. 

Pity  me,  and  write  to  thy  forsaken         Heloise." 

Anselm  (tearing  the  letter  into  fragments,    and 
placing  them  in  his  pocket).     One  wife  the 
more  in  the  world  of  marriage  ! 
Revenge  is  dear  to  human  hearts  as  love  of  Fame. 
Now  shall  I  be  even  with  the  hated  Abelard. 
(Enter  Fulbert.) 

Fulhert.    Friend  !  what  had  I  done  without  thee  ? 
Since  thou  beneath  my  roof  hast  stay'd, 
Thy  counsel  and  thy  weighty  presence  both 
Have  me  supported  'neath  mine  affliction, 

Anselm.     How  fares  thy  niece  ? 

Fulhert.     She's  in  her  chamber  weeping,  and  her 
grief 
Is  such  that  all  do  weep  in  sympathy  with  her. 
Alas  !  she  mourns  the  lover,  not  the  fault. 
I  read  to  her  a  message  from  the  Pope, 
In  which  he  doth  command  her  make  amends 
For  her  sin  by  lawful  marriage  to  the  Prince. 


ii8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

I   join'd   my   prayers   unto   the   Holy   Father's 

mandate, 
And  she  entreateth  me  to  wait  until  to-morrow 
For  her  answer.     Why  till  the  morrow  ? 
I  cannot  tell. 

Anselm  (aside).     I   could  tell  thee  why   "  till 
to-morrow  " 
She  would  have  thee  tarry.     She  hopes  an  answer 
Will  forthcome  unto  her  letter, — that  one 
Which  now  snugly  lies  in  tatters  in  my  pocket. 
(Aloud  to  Fulbert)  Will  she  consent  to-morrow 
to  wed  the  Prince  ? 

Fulbert.     She  hath  promised  me  all  I  should  ask 
If  I  but  wait  until  the  morrow. 

Anselm.     I  counsel  thee  to  brook  no  more  delay  ; 
Marry  her  outright  for  fear  of  Abelard. 

Fulbert.     'Tis  my  intention.     Therefore  I   be- 
seech thee, 
If  Heloise  consents,  arrange  the  nuptials, 
Appoint  the  priest,  invite  the  guests, 
In  pomp  and  state  befitting  such  a  ceremony. 

Anselm.     I  will  haste  to  Notre  Dame,  and  ordain 
All  dignities  pertaining  to  a  noble  marriage. 

Fulbert.     But    why    so     fast  ?      Heloise    will 
promise  me 
Naught  until  the  morrow. 

Anselm.    When  a  woman  half  promises. 
Take  it  as  a  whole.     She  will  consent. 

Fulbert.  Thy  words  like  wine  do  give  me  courage. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  119 

Let  us  each  to  our  appoint'd  work 
In  these  great  nuptials.     Anon,  good  friend ! 
My  right,  true  friend,  anon  !  [Exit. 

Anselm.     Old    dotard !     What    ardently     he 
wishes,  he  hastens 
To  believe.     He  begg'd  of  me  t'appoint 
The  priest,  and  so  I  vow  will  I. 
To-morrow  doth  Abelard  take  the  vow  of  celibacy — 
None  but  he  shall  be  the  priest 
That  joins  the  pair  in  wedd'd  bonds. 

Scene  3 

The  interior  of  Notre  Dame,  showing  altar 
magnificently  decked  with  flowers  and  precious 
offerings.  On  one  side  of  the  altar  is  an 
enormous  golden  cross,  at  the  base  of  which 
are  three  steps  of  white  marble. 

(Enter  youths  of  the  choir  swinging  censers, 
followed  by  young  girls  dressed  in  white ^ 
scattering  flowers.) 

Chorus.       Love,  thy  great  and  potent  sway 
All  the  sons  of  men  obey ; 
On  the  sacred  altar,  see, 
Types  of  thy  Eternity. 

A  Youth.     Hail,  renowned,  youthful  pair, 

Bless' d  with  every  gift  that's  rare ; 
Be  e'er  yours  on  earth  below 
All  that  Heav'n  can  bestow  ! 


120  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

A  Girl.  Vernal  youth  will  pass  away, 

Beauty  lingers  for  a  day ; 
Love  alone  shall  live  and  last, 
When  th'  world  itself  is  past. 

A  Youth.      What  is  glory  but  a  name  ? 

What  so  false  as  fleeting  fame  ? 
But  constant  as  the  sun  above 
Is  faithful  and  immortal  love. 

Chorus.         Love,  thy  great  and  perfect  sway, 
All  the  race  of  men  obey ; 
On  the  sacred  altar,  see, 
Types  of  thy  Eternity. 

{Scattering  white  roses,  hyacinth,  and  jasmine,  and 
swinging  the  censers,  the  youths  and  girls  pass 
out.  Enter  Heloise  and  Myrtila.  Heloise 
is  magnificently  attired  in  a  white  robe,  with 
a  diadem  of  precious  stones  encircling  her 
head.     She  looks  melancholy  and  dejected.) 

Heloise.     Let  us  tarry  here  awhile.     The  others 
Will  shortly  follow.     Yet,  'ere  they  come, 
I  have  a  boon  to  ask  of  thee,  Myrtila. 
Wilt  thou  grant  it  ? 

Myrtila.    Thou  know'st  that  all  thou  ask'st  of  me 
Will  be  surely  done,  sweet  Heloise. 
Would  that  I  could  see  thee  smile  again 
As  thou  wert  wont  to  do,  ere  Abelard, 
That  false  one,  did  steal  away 
Thy  heart  from  those  that  loved  thee. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  121 

Heloise.     Speak  not  thus !     Thou  know'st  not 
What  slaves  love  makes  of  us,  else  thy  lips 
Had  been  in  silence  hush'd  upon  the  theme. 
List  to  me  !     The  fearful  step  which  now 
I  take  in  wedding  Amadeus,  is  but  to  save 
My  uncle  Fulbert  from  the  further  shame — 
Alas  !  I've  wrought  enough  upon  him — 
Of  seeing  me  'neath  the  Church's  ban  ; 
For  the  Holy  Pontiff  writes  that  wedlock's  sanctity 
Alone  my  sin  can  'solve.     If  I  refuse, 
His  excommunication  foUows. 

Myrtila.     Alas  !  that  shame  should  spring  from 
love  ! 

Heloise.     Dear  God,  I  love  a  man  too  well,  and 
Thee  not  enough. 

Myrtila.     But  this  request  of  thine,  what  is't  ? 

Heloise.    When  the  priest  hath  join'd  the  Prince 
and  me, 
The  Holy  Father  will  revoke  his  curse 
And  change  it  to  a  blessing  :  'tis  then. 
To-night,  that  I  shall  fly  my  spouse's  arms 
And  swift  embrace  a  rival's  ! 

Myrtila.     Heloise  !  thou  ravest  ! 

Heloise.     He  has  a  rival,  and  his  name  is  Death, 
And  on  his  bony  bosom  would  I  lay 
My  weary  brow  and  sleep  my  sorrow  all  away. 
I,  like  a  child,  am  weary  of  the  play. 
With  the  colour'd  bubble  we  call  life. 
Since  Abelard  has  gone  I  grope  in  darkness, 


122  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  to-night,  when  the  Prince  awaits  his  bride. 
This  little  friendly  steel  will  ope  the  door 
To  let  me  enter  Death's  great  world  of  rest. 

(Takes  a  small  poniard  from  her  breast.) 

Myrtila.     O  horror  ! 

Heloise.     What  horror  lies  in  dreamless  sleep  ? 
A  gentle,  lasting  sleep  with  all  the  senses  still'd, 
The  storm  of  passions  calm'd,  the  mind's  errors 
Allay'd,  and  the  body's  servitude  quell'd  for  ever  I 
Not  what  it  is,  but  what  cowards  make  of  it, 
Transforms  eternal  sleep  into  a  terror  dark. 

Myrtila.     I  cannot  let  thee  die. 

Heloise.      What !      wouldst    urge     me    on     a 
wanton's  life  ? 
To  be  a  wife,  when  I  have  been 
The  love  of  Abelard  !     The  thought  revolts  me  ! 

Myrtila.     How  can  I  serve  thee,  poor  wounded 
heart  ? 

Heloise.     Nay,  weep  not,  for  thou  too  must  go 
At  thy  allotted  space.     See  that  my  cold  form 
Is  rob'd  within  that  gown  that  Abelard 
Once  lov'd  to  see  me  wear.     'Tis  of  velvet 
And  of  silk  :  the  colours,  white  and  rose  : 
'Tis  broider'd  with  seed  pearls. 
Then,  lay  his  book  of  poems  on  my  breast. 
So  if,  perchance,  I  should  awake  and  see  him  not, 
I  still  may  read  his  loving,  tender  thoughts. 
And  dream  I  hear  his  silver  voice  again. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  123 

(They  withdraw  with  arms  entwined.  They  have- 
scarcely  passed  outy  when  Abelard  enters, 
with  his  eyes  earnestly  fixed  on  the  hook 
he  is  holding.  Prince  Amadeus,  who  has 
just  arrived,  in  a  gorgeous  habit,  is 
so  engrossed  with  the  splendour  of  his 
own  appearance,  that  he  stumbles  against 
Abelard.) 

Amadeus  (angrily).     Look  to  thy  goings,  churl- 
ish priest ! 
Thy  manners  are  most  damnable. 

Abelard    (haughtily).     Presume    not,    sir,    too 
much  upon  this  cassock. 
For  a  man's  heart  beats  beneath  it. 

(Enter  Fulbert,   Anselm,   Lotulf,   Alberic, 
Priests  and  Attendants.) 

Anselm    (aside    to    Lotulf).     Abelard    knows 
not   'tis   Heloise   he   must   wed   unto   the 
Prince. 
Lotulf.     Hast  not  o'erstepped  the  narrow  line 
that 
Prudence  from  foolhardiness  doth  separate  ? 
What  will  he  say  when  he  sees  who  'tis  ? 

Anselm.     He  dare  not  utterance  give  unto  his 
thoughts  ; 
The  Church's  sanctity  forbids  it. 

Lotulf.     Hope  not  too  much  from  sanctity  ; 


124  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Passion  far  nearer  to  the  human  heart 
Than  Heav'n  is. 

Abelard  {taking  the  place  near  the  altar,  aside). 

Thoughts  Uke  fleeting  clouds  take  shapes 

fantastic. 
I  fear — yet  know  not  why  I  fear — to  meet 
The  would-be  wedd'd  pair. 

(Enter  Heloise  and  Myrtila.  Heloise,  who 
has  come  upon  the  scene  with  drooping  eyes, 
suddenly  perceives  Abelard  as  the  officiat- 
ing priest,  and  stands  as  if  transfixed.) 

Abelard.     Heloise ! 

Heloise.     Abelard ! 

Abelard.     Thou,  then,  art  the  bride  ! 

Heloise.     Thou,  then,  art  the  priest !     God  save 
My  tortur'd  heart  from  bursting  ere  I  speak  ; 
A  thousand  letters  I  have  writ  to  thee, 
And  had  not  one  response. 

Abelard.     I,  too,  have  writ  to  thee  unnumber'd 
times. 
And  not  one  answer  had. 

Heloise  (despairingly).     See  to  what  thy  silence 
hath  driven  me  ! 

Abelard  (bitterly).     I  see  well ! 
Thou  seek'st  God's  blessing  on 
A  newer  and  a  richer  lover. 

Heloise.    Cruel  one !  be  still.    To-night  had  been 
My  wedding  and  my  death  in  one. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  125 

Abelard.     Methought   that    thou  hadst  weary 
grown, 
And  car'd  no  more  for  me  ! 

Heloise.     Abelard  !  'tis  thee  alone  I  love  ! 

Abelard.     Break,  my  heart  !    Thy  words  truth's 
impress  bear, 
Altho'  thy  deeds  be  strange.     'Tis  too  late  ! 
I  dare  not  utter  now  the  thoughts  that  flow 
Like  torrent  from  my  breast  o'ercharged, 
For  Reason  dams  them  back  with  floodgates  stem : 
Thus  Art  doth  stay  fond  Nature. 

Heloise.     Drive  me  not  away  from  thee  : 
I  am  thy  Heloise  unchang'd,  and  changeless  ever. 
Altho'  the  world  may  turn  a  Janus  face  to  thee, 
'Twill  make  me  doubly  constant,  if  that  could 
e'er  be. 

Abelard  (in  despair).  OGod!  what  time  is  this 
Thus  to  speak  to  me  ? 

Heloise.     If    thou    wait'st    for    another,    thou 
tarriest 
Too    long.     Opportunities    were    but    made    for 

princes  ; 
I  am  near  thee  now,  thus  let  me  e'er  abide. 
Thou  hast  been  the  source  of  all  my  sorrow  ; 
Be  thou  the  well-spring  of  my  lasting  joy. 
And  bid  me  stay  with  thee. 

Abelard.  Thy  lov'd  voice  doth  urge  me  to  respond 
Against  those  vows  that  I  to  Heav'n  have  made. 
Add  not  to  my  woe  by  thy  sweet  constancy ; 


126  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Bid  me  forget  thy  favours  and  that  right 
Which  they  now  claim  from  my  too  willing  heart. 
Plead  no  more !     It  is  too  late ; 
We  are  the  sport  of  mocking  fate. 

Anselm.     Unrighteous  priest,  recall 
Thy  rebel  heart  unto  thy  pious  obligations. 
Insult  no  more  the  Holy  Church  with  the 
Avowals  of  thy  vain  love. 

Abelard.    Surely  love  partakes  of  all  that's  holy : 
The  very  Church  is  built  on  its  foundation — 
Or,  rather,  should  be — my  noble,  reverend  lord. 

Amadeus.     I  have  withheld  myself  thus  far, 
In  pure  respect  for  this  most  holy  spot ; 
But,  as  I  am  a  man  of  temper  hot  and  passionate, 
I'U  brook  this  saucy  priest  no  more  : 
My  bride — I  claim  my  bride  ! 

Heloise.  Thou  claim' st  a  shadow. 
For  I  did  ne'er  mean  to  be  thy  wife 
As  thou  dost  think  it. 

Fulbert.     Insensate  wretch,  miscalled  a  woman  ! 
Where  is  thy  softness  and  thy  compliance  ? 
Thy  modesty  ?  thy  sex's  gracious  virtues  ? 

Abelard.  O  that  Philosophy 

Can  teach  what  to  itself  it  never  can  apply  ! 
Tempt  me  no  more,  Heloise,  for  I  am  sworn 
To  Him  who  drieth  hence  all  tears. 

Heloise.     How  like  a  man  !     Thou  think'st  but 
of  thy  grief. 
And  not  of  me  so  hardly  left  to  pine. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  127 

What  shall  I  do — renouncM  by  Abelard — 
But  seek  a  speedier  peace  than  Heav*n  intend*d  ? 
(Draws  the  dagger  from  her  breast.     Abelard 
seizes  it  from  her.) 
Abelard.     Hold  !  there  is  a  refuge  still,  when 
Ev'ry  other  hope  hath  fled. 
Tho'  affliction  doth  encompass  thee 
Like  threatening  waves  about  a  fragile  barque, 
To  whom  the  cruel  world  hath  clos'd  her  ports, 
I  still  do  know  a  harbour,  O  my  Heloise, 
Merciful  and  safe,  where  storms  do  never  reach, 
To  harm  thee  with  their  passion. 

Heloise    (with    eyes    full    of    hope).      And   this 

Haven  of  hope,  belov'd,  show  it  me  ! 
Abelard  (pointing  to  the  great  Cross  that  stands 
by  the  altar).     There  is  the  refuge  from  all 
earthly  ills. 
Human  woe  and  pain,  and  man's  injustice  ; 
"'TIS  the  symbol  of  all  evil,  and  its  cure. 
Clasp  it  to  thy  breast ;  'twill  uphold  thee, 
And  take  away  the  sting  of  every  anguish. 
There  is  the  Cross,  Heloise ;  bear  it  bravely, 
And  bravely  it  will  bear  thee.     O  thou  dear  one  ! 
Now  too  sensible  to  human  love,  go  ! 
Drive  it  from  thy  soul,  and  implant  instead 
The  higher  love  of  thy  salvation  ! 

(Heloise,  taking  off  her  crown  of  jewels,  castsfit 
down,  and  going  to  the  Cross,  sinks  at  the 
foot  of  it  weeping.) 


128  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Amadeus.     False  priest !  thy  wiles  shall  never 
steal  my  bride, 
Tho'  they  have  robbed  her  senses  !     Die  ! 

(Draws,  and,  as  he  would  make  a  rush  at  Abelard, 
Philintus,  who  has  been  quietly  watching  all 
his  movements,  darts  forward,  and  parrying 
the  blow  with  his  own  weapon,  stabs  the^ 
Prince.     The  Prince  falls.) 

Fulbert.       Wretched  woman  !  see  what  fearful 
consequence 
Doth  e'er  attend  an  evil  deed. 
What  canst  do  now  ? 

Heloise  (clinging  to  the  Cross).     My  choice  is 
here,  since  I  have  lost 
That  thing  in  life  by  me  most  priz'd. 

Myrtila  (starting  forward  to  Heloise).     Speak 
but  one  word,  one  word  to  me, 
Thy  sorrowing  friend  ! 

Heloise.     Sweet,  gentle  woman's  heart  to  kindly 
pity  mov'd, 
Pray  that  never  thou  shouldst   love  as  I   have 
lov'd. 

(Enter  Abbess  and  Nuns  in  solemn  procession. 
They  kneel  round  the  Cross,  to  which  Heloise 
clings  with  her  face  hidden.  Abelard  takes 
a  last  look  at  the  cause  of  his  misfortune,  and 
tears  himself  away.) 


Act    V 


ACT  V 

{After  fifteen  years.) 

Scene  i 

(The  Convent  Garden  of  the  Paraclete.) 

(Heloise  is  seated  at  a  rustic  table  reading.  A 
young  Nun  is  picking  flowers,  and  the  sound  of 
female  voices  singing  a  hymn  is  softly  home 
upon  the  air.) 

Heloise    (putting  down    her    hook).    That    tears 

could  wash  away  the  mem'ry 
Which    lashes    me    with    thongs    of    long-past 

joys, 
Kindling  my  still  riotous  blood  into  rebellion 
Against  these  cloister  walls.     O  false  piety ! 
How  real  a  vice  there  is  'neath  seeming  virtue, 
And   how    oft    'neath    seeming     vice    is    virtue 

hid! 
While  my  heart  still  beats  for  love  of  man, 
My  tongue  but  teaches  here  the  love  of  God. 


V 


132  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

In  vain  I  light  my  matin  lamp  and  many  aves  say  ; 
Between  my  God  and  me  terrestrial  thoughts  will 

stray. 
When  sensuous  swelling  organs  tempt  the  sinner's 

heart 
To  raise  his  voice  in  pray'r  with  music's  gentle 

art, 
I  murmur  hollow  words  with  wandering  thoughts 

oppress' d, 
For  human  love,  not  love  Divine,  rules  within  my 

breast. 

{The  young  Nun  who  has  been  gathering  flowers 
approaches  Heloise  with  a  bunch  of  blossom.) 

Nun.     I  fear  I  do  disturb  your  pious  thoughts  ; 
Yet,  since  your  generous  heart,  sweet  mother, 
Does  ever  more  forgive  than  much  condemn, 
I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  rudely  break 
Upon  your  blessed  meditations. 

Heloise.     What  wouldst  thou,  daughter  ? 

Nun  (timidly).    Will  it  please  you,  sweet  mother. 
To  give  me  leave  to  deck  the  altar,  and  that 
No  other  hand  but  mine  should  do  't  ? 
Oh,  chide  me  not  for  this  ambitious  sin ! 

Heloise.     Thy  wish  is  grant'd,  daughter  ! 
Go  !  thy  task  accomplish.     None  else 
Shall  do  the  work.     It  is  my  order. 

(Nun  makes  a  grateful  obeisance  and  goes  into  the 

Convent.) 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  133 

Heloise.     There  are  none  so  meek  but  have 
Their  triumphs  and  ambitions. 

(Enter  Myrtila  hastily,  habited  in  the  garb  of  a 

nun.) 

Heloise.     Ah,    Myrtila !      hast    thou    come    to 

cheer  me 
With  thy  discourse  merry  ?     God  forgive  me  ! 
For  ne'er  do  I  behold  thee  but  I  feel 
A  pang  that  thy  bright  spirit  is  entombed 
Within  this  gloomy  place,  instead  of  that 
Gay  world  without  the  Convent  gates. 
Myrtila.      There    was    no    world    without    my 

friend  for  me  ; 
And  when  my  friend  I  followed,  I  did 
Not  leave  the  world  ;  or,  if  I  did,  I  found 
A  better  one  than  it  beyond  the  Convent  walls. 
But  I  have  news  for  thee. 

Heloise.      News !     Didst    say    that    thou    hast 

news  for  me  ? 
What  is  it  ?     Hath  the  Convent  tabby-cat 
Lapp'd  up  our  cream  or  ate  the  fish  ? 
Perchance  the  hens  have  suck'd  up  all  their  eggs  ? 
If  that  be  so — and  surely  it  is  Friday  on  the 

morrow — 
We  shall  but  poorly  fare. 

Myrtila   (retrospectively).     To   think   that   once 

we  far'd  so  sumptuously  ! 
How  mortals  change  ! 


134  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Heloise.     Thy  news,    my    fair    philosopher,    if 
thou 
Hast  any  ? 

Myrtila.     Dear  friend  !  I  ne'er  see  thee  but  I 
think 
That     'neath    thy    sombre    garb     thy    tortur'd 

heart 
Doth  ev'r  bleed  in  mem'ry  of  Abelard. 

Heloise.     Hush  !     Breathe  not  that  name  ! 
There  are  some  griefs  we  dare  not  utter, 
Tho'  they  are  ever  upmost  in  our  thought, 
Sapping  our  vitality,  as  the  ivy  which 
Like  a  vampire  doth  suck  the  strength 
From  the  body  of  the  oak. 

Myrtila.   How  couldst  thou  live  and  suffer  thus  I 

Heloise.     The  tortur'd  mind  lasts  longest. 
(Pauses)  But  this  news  ? 

Myrtila.     A  messenger  did  bring  this  letter 

[Gives  Heloise  a  letter. 
And  the  messenger  was  sent  by  Abelard. 
I  did  delay  to  give  it  thee  before, 
For  fear  its  very  suddenness  would  hurt  thee. 

(Heloise  seizes  the  letter,  and  opening  it,  reads  in 
a  voice  trembling  with  emotion) : — 

*'  Abelard    to   Heloise,    a   well-beloved   sister   in 

Christ  ! 
Rome's  Holy  Father  hath  enjoin'd 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  135 

The  Convent  of  the  Paraclete  I  should  visit, 

To  enquire  the  method  of  your  teaching, 

For  which  your  name  is  justly  famous. 

When    you,    renowned    Abbess,    have    then    me 

instructed, 
A  full  report  thereon  to  Rome  I  will  transmit 
For  the  world's  enlightenment.     The  Holy  Father 
Sends  his  blessing  on  your  virtues. 
Unless  untoward  accident  befalls, 
I  should  arrive  at  noon  to-day.         Abelard." 

Heloise.     How  colder  than  the  snow  that  rests 
on  Alpine  heights 
His  words  do  press  on  me  !     I  had  rather  had 
One  loving  line  from  him. 
Than  all  the  praise  of  Christendom. 

Myrtila.     Mayhap  'tis  but  a  pretext  feign'd 
So  he  again  should  see  thee  ! 

Heloise.      O    Friendship !     thou    alone    canst 
solace  us 
When  Love  deserts  ! 

(Convent  clock  strikes  twelve.  Nuns,  Sisters^ 
and  Scholars  troop  out  of  the  Convent,  and 
passing  by  Heloise,  respectfully  salute  her. 
Enter  Abelard,  whom  fifteen  years  have 
greatly  altered,  with  Priests  and  Attend- 
ants.) 

Heloise  (striving  with  difficulty  to  maintain  a  firm, 
dignified,     hut    withal    gentle    demeanour). 


136  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Most  holy  and  renowned  Father,  you  are  welcome ! 
Welcome  to  this  place  to  which  you  yourself 
Have  given  fame,  long  ere  you  did  give  it  me 
To  govern.     Pardon  me  this  halting 
And  disjoint' d  speech.     Greatly  am  I  overcome 
With  this  unexpect'd  honour  ! 

Ahelard  (in  calm,  measured,  and  deliberate  tones, 
looking  at  her  as  though   she  were   entirely 
strange   to   him,    from  under  his   drooping 
eyelids).      Rever'd    and  gracious    Abbess, 
Your  gentle  words 
Reproach  me  more  than  sharp  reproof  could  do. 
This  visit's  suddenness,  in  truth,  is  worthy  blame  ; 
But  let  the  number  of  my  varied  labours 
My  excuses  frame.     The  niceness  of  refined  ways 
Are  in  active  life,  alas  !  too  soon  forgot ; 
And  labour,  whilst  it  polishes  our  souls. 
Oft  roughens  our  externals.     Therefore,   I  pray 

you. 
Pardon  me  for  being  thus  abrupt ! 
Faith's  zeal,  if  not  vain  worldly  form,  must  plead 
for  me. 
Heloise    (tremulously,    hut   significantly).      The 
presence  of   the  famous  Abelard  is   plea 
enough 
To  exculpate  far  greater  faults  than  this. 

Ahelard  (with  courteous,  hut  careless  unconcern, 
inclining  his  head  as  if  in  thanks  for  the 
compliment).     Thanks ! 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  137 

Gentle  Abbess,  with  you  I  would  confer  without 

delay 
Upon  the  matter  of  my  letter.     Rome 
Fain  would  know  the  method  of  your  teaching, 
To  impart  it  thro'  the  world. 

Heloise    (making   a   profound   obeisance).     This 
mountain  of  honour  heaped  upon  me 
Doth  truly  overwhelm  my  humble  heart. 
{Aside)  His    voice   and  manner  turn  my    blood 

to  ice ; 
His   praise   doth   make   me   hate    the   name    of 

virtue. 
His  tones  do  make  of  it  so  harsh  a  thing. 
(To    the    Nuns,    Sisters,    and    Scholars)    Go, 

daughters !  I  would  have  private  converse 
With  our  illustrious  visitor.     I  pray  ye,  show 
These  gentlemen  our  far-fam'd  Paraclete. 

First  Nun  (whispering  to  another  as  she  passes). 
Is  that  the  renowned  Abelard, 
Of  whom  'tis  said  all  ladies  were  enamour' d  ? 
Second  Nun  (whispering).     How  cold  and  stem 
he  looks  !     And  inaccessible 
To  love  and  tenderness  as  the  very  rocks ! 

First  Scholar.     They  say  he  once  was  young 
and  debonair. 
I'll  not  believe  it ! 

Myrtila.     Come,  gentlemen,  and  let  us  to  you 
show 
The  wonders  of  our  convent  home. 


138  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

{Exeunt    Myrtila,    Nuns,    Sisters,    Scholars, 
Priests,  and  Attendants.) 

Heloise.     Hath  grief  so  alter'd  me,  that  thou 
look'st  so, 
With  calm,  approving  eyes  bereft  of  love  ? 
Hath  Change's  hand  so  drawn  the  face  of  Heloise, 
That  thou  regard' st  it  no  more  as  the  one 
Thou  once  didst  swear  was  all  the  world  to  thee  ? 
I'd  rather  have  thee  frown  on  me  in  anger. 
Than  gaze  with  eye  so  still  and  so  dispassionate. 
Perchance  thy  fame  hath  marr'd  thy  heart, 
And  raising  thee,  hath  lower' d  me  ! 

Abelard  {with  proud  humility).     Regard  me  not^ 
I  do  beseech  thee,  as  one 
In  any  way  above  my  feUows.     I  am  a  sinner 
Prostrate  before  my  Judge,  and  thy  bitterness 
Doth  ill  accord  with  my  deep  humility. 
Heloise.     Thou  didst  never  love  me  ! 
Or,  like  all  men,  thy  passion  wan'd 
When  I  had  nothing  more  to  offer  thee  ! 
O  nature,   human   nature  !   a   shallow  thing   art 

thou! 
Ingratitude  and  cold  neglect  do  bind  thy  wanton 

brow. 
A  love   unhallowed   by   the    Church    reaps  this 

reward  : 
To  live  desert' d  and  alone,  or  die   a   thing   ab- 
hor r'd. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  139 

Abelard.    Through    Satan's   ways   our   Father 

leads  us  to  His  own. 
Our  former  sin  hath  brought  us  here  for  good. 
Th'  illusion  of  life 

Is  short,  but  remorse  is  long.     Curse  me  ! 
Curse  me,  Heloise,  as  a  villain,  and  thy  enemy, 
For  I  did  steal  thine  innocence  from  thee, 
Which  not  Heav'n  itself  can  e'er  return. 
I  have  pray'd  and  offer' d  up  my  heart 
T'  appease  the  wrath  to  come,  that  I  alone, 
Not  thou,  shouldst  suffer  for  our  guilt. 

Heloise.     Thou   hast   no  audience  before   thee 

now, 
But  only  one  sad,  broken  woman,  who 
Doth  love  thee  still  beyond  all  earth  and  heav'n. 
Come  !  speak  not  more  to  me  in  measured  tones. 
In  which,  as  France's  highest  and  noblest  prelate. 
Thou  teach'st  students  wisdom  and  cause  of  all 

phenomena. 
Frame  thy  words  gently,  Abelard,  to  me. 
Remember  why  I  enter' d  here,  and  cast  my  youth 
And  pleasure  all  aside  for  thee.     I  was  so  young  1 
That  for  pity  and  for  mem'ry  now,  feign  a  little 

love, 
E'en  if  thou  dost  mean  it  not. 

Abelard.     Speak  not  thus  to  me,  Heloise,  speak 

not  thus  ! 
We  are  no  longer  of  the  earth.     Wouldst  thou 
Destroy  my  piety  in  its  infant  state, 


140  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  strangle  conscience'  voice  ?     For  penance 
We  retir'd  from  the  world  ;  let  us  not 
Recall  those  false  joys  past. 
Heloise  (with  scornful  bitterness).     How  easy  'tis 
for  men  those  passions  to  condemn, 
When  they  in  them  no  longer  find  delight. 
Narrow  is  that  mind  which  Heav'n  hopes  to  reach, 
By  doing  only  that  which  dogmas  cold  ordain  ! 
Abelard.     Are  the  lives  of  dead  saints  "  rules 
and  dogmas  ?  " 
And  the  constancy  of  martyrs  but  a  name  ? 
Come,  then,  if  thou  think'st  it  fit  and  meet, 
And  in  thy  holy  habit  thrust  thyself  between 
My  God  and  me  !     Come  !  be  thou  a  wall 
Of    separation    from    salvation,    and   my    sacred 

peace. 
And  yet,  I  would  entreat  thee,  by  all  fondness  past, 
To  suffer  me  to  shun  destruction,  and  to  lead 
Thee  too  from  the  yawning  maw  of  Hell. 

Heloise.     There  never  did  man  reason  yet, 
But  it  did  blast  the  sentiment  of  woman. 
Thou  hast  made  great  strides  to  Heav'n's  attain- 
ment ! 
But  my  devotion's  earthly,  and  is  fix'd  upon  a 

man. 
Hast  thou  forgot  those  shining  days, 
When  all  the  world  had  no  such  joy 
As  our  two  hearts  did  hold  ?     I  needs  must  weep 
When  now  I  think  on  't.     Delightful  dream  ! 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  141 

Tender  vision  of  man's  constancy,  too  soon 
Dispell'd  by  time.     Thou  wert  my  dream, 
My  dream  come  true  :  my  world,  my  light, 
My  nobler,  better,  higher  self. 
Darkness  spread  her  wings  where  thou  wert  not, 
And  sunlight  stream'd  where'er  thou  trod'st, 
Though  night  had  fallen  !     Thou  wert  my  peace, 
My  soul's  tranquillity ;  and  sorrow  stood  aside 
Nor  dar'd  approach,  when  thou  wert  near, 
Nor  joy  had  one  delight  when  thou  wert  far. 
Abelard  (in  hurried  and  repressed  accents).     Thy 

tears  have  washed  the  secrets  of  my  soul. 
That  I  had  thought  to  take  unto  the  grave. 
Priestly  vows  have  stemm'd  my  passion  ;   but 
My  thoughts   in  solitude  are  filled  with  dreams 

of  thee. 
I  search'd  for  an  asylum  far  from  love. 
But  the  stillness  as  of  death  did  minister 
To  summon  up  the  heaven  of  our  past. 
I  love  thee  !     Shame  presses  me  on  ev'ry  side — 
I  should  remember  I  am  a  priest — 
But  alas  !  the  love  of  God  and  piety  do  not 
Annihilate  the  love  for  woman  !     Ye  cloisters  ! 
Your  murky  shadows  hide,  but  do  not  quench 
The  pangs  of  human  passion^and  their  attendant 

tortures  ! 
Why  are  the  chalices  of  saints  so  harsh  and  bitter. 
And  the  sinner's  cup  so  sweet  ?     Easy  'twere 
To  tread  the  path  of  virtue,  were  it  fair  ! 


142  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Heloise  (in  a  voice  of  unutterable  delight,  going  to 
Abelard   to   embrace   him).       Thou  lov'st 
me  yet ! 
Abelard  (moving  away  from  her).     To  love  thee 
truly  is  to  leave  thee  ! 
I  dare  not  even  stay  fulfil  the  Pope's  behest ; 
I  cannot  trust  myself. 

{Enter  Priests,  Nuns,  Sisters,  Scholars,  and 
Attendants,  and  Myrtila.) 

Abelard.     Farewell,  most    wise    and    reverend 
Abbess  ! 
In  your  pray'rs  forget  not  mine  iniquities, 
My  wretchedness,  my  sorrows,  and  my  penitence. 
Farewell !     Farewell ! 

[Exeunt  Ab^'lkrt^,  Priests,  awi  Attendants. 

Myrtila  (to  Heloise).     Thou  look'st  so  strange, 
and  like  to  swoon  ! 
O  God  !  what  ails  thee  ? 

Heloise    (faintly,    and   as    though   her    mind   is 
waning),    'Tis  the  old,  old  pain — my  trouble 
o'  the  heart. 
The  disease  is  Abelard,  and  knows  no  cure  ; 
He's  gone,  and  with  him  goes  my  life  ! 
(Pauses,  and,  in  her  distraction,  believes  she  sees 

Abelard  before  her.) 
But  stay,  he  is  not  gone,  for  I  behold 
His  eyes  transparent,  thro'  which  the  world 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  143 

Could  view  a  great  and  noble  tortur'd  soul — 

Tortured  by  earth's  injustice — bend  upon  me 

Their  matchless  light  and  proud  intelhgence. 

His  air  divine,  mysterious,  and  strange, 

Doth  mark  him  as  a  god  'midst  men  of  clay  ! 

Dear  image  of  great  Abelard  ! 

Oh  !  merit  and  celebrity  !  Oh  !  wonder  of  the  age  I 

Despite  the  calumnies  of  thine  enemies. 

But  mark,  Myrtila  !     Ne'er  scorn  a  foe, 

Howev'r  base  he  be ;  for  little  spites 

Can  work  great  ills — at  least,  so  I  have  proved. 

Hold  me  in  thy  arms,  unworthy  as  I  am, 

And  press  thy  lips  to  mine  with  kisses 

Such  as  angels  do  exchange  in  Paradise. 

How  bright  the  world  is  thro'  love's  glasses  ! 

Give    me    thy    hand  !     Inconstant  !     Dost    say, 

Nay! 
Then,  prythee,  go  before  ! — to  Heav'n  lead  the 

way  ! 

{She  fancies  Abelard  is  leading,  and  tries  to 
follow  hiniy  but,  overcome  by  the  mental  strain, 
she  falls  lifeless  into  Myrtila's  arms.) 

Myrtila  (calling).     Help !     Help !     Help ! 
Our  abbess  is  dying  ! 


144  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Scene  2 

The  Abbey  of  St  Cluni, 

(Enter  Philintus  as  monk.) 

Philintus.     I  have  known  places  more  holy  than 
a  monastery, 
Where  the  scenes  of  busy  life  were  wildest  ; 
And  I  have  seen  a  layman  lead 
A  better  life  than  many  a  monk. 
A  priestly  garb  no  more  creates  a  godly  mind 
Than  kingly  robes  do  make  a  righteous  man. 
Tho',  God's  patience  !  courtiers  would  have  us 
Believe  this  miracle  ! 

(Enter  Abelard.) 

Abelard.     What  news,  Phihntus  ? 

Philintus.     When    thou    didst    go    unto    the 
Paraclete, 
I  was  called  to  shrive  a  woman. 
'Twas  Agaton.     Dost  thou  remember  the  pretty 

maid 
That  waited  once  on  Heloise  ? 

Abelard.     Her  waiting-woman  !     As  in  a  dream 
I  do  remember  her.     Well !  well ! 

Philintus.     She  was  changed,  as  all  of  us 
Whom  Autumn's  sere  has  overtaken. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  145 

In  weeping  tones  she  did  confess  to  me 

A  sin  that  all  her  soul  perturb' d 

With    wild    unrest.       Then    her    poor,    parch'd 

lips 
Did  murmur  forth  the  story  of  her  guilt, 
Which  sore  afflicted  me.     Dost  thou  recall 
The  countless  letters  thou  didst  write  to  Heloise, 
And  which  to  Agaton  I  did  deliver  ? 
Ahelard  (impatiently).     Well !  well ! 
Philintus.     With  threats  and  vile  endeavours 

too  successful, 
Did  Anselm,  false  and  perjured  Anselm,  worm 
Them    from    the    maid,    who    fear'd    her    soul's 

damnation. 
So  never  one  of  all  thy  words  reach'd  Heloise, 
And  ne'er  a  note  of  Heloise  reach'd  thee  ; 
But  all  were  giv'n  to  this  villain,  who  compos'd 
Of  all  those  notes  harmonious  a  most  profound 

discord  ! 
Abelard.     Chill  time  has  cool'd  my  once  hot 

blood  ; 
Tempestuous  rage  requires  all  youth's  vigour 
To  sustain  it.     O  cruel,  fiendish  villain  ! 
To  blight  two  loving  hearts  without  a  cause  ! 
I  dare  not  think  too  much  on  't,  for  fear 
My  days  be  spent  in  vain  regret,  not  work. 
O  Justice  !  thy  bandaged  eyes  are  blind  indeed. 
Thy  sword  with  rust  corrodes,  or  never 
Turpitude  like  this  unpunished  had  been  ! 

K 


146  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Philintus.     This  earth  were  not  earth  at  all  if 
wickedness 
Thriv'd  not  more  than  honesty.     Fulbert  is  dead ; 

Anselm  is  rais'd 
To  be  Archbishop  in  his  stead. 

Ahelard   (musing).      Canst   tell   me,    Philintus, 
why  the  good  are  taken 
And  the  wicked  left  behind  ? 

Philintus.    The  good  are  taken  from  the  trouble 
yet  to  come ; 
The    wicked    stay    that    more    may    be    their 
share. 
Abelard.     My  friend  !  many  strange  events  by 
chance^  occur, 
That,  strive  we  how  we  may,  never  hap 
By  work;;alone. 

{Enter  a  Monk  hastily.) 

Monk.     Hold  yourself  in  readiness,  I  pray  ! 
His  Majesty  the  King  himself  doth  honour  you 
By  coming  here. 

Abelard.    The  strumpet  Fame,  like  Aphrodite 
of  Paphos, 
Tho'  she  be  Corruption's  self,  kings  do  worship 

her. 
An  evil-doer  patt'd  on  the  back  by  Fortune 
Is  the  welcome  guest  of  monarchy,  whilst 
Modest  merit  pines  thro'  cold  neglect. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  147 

Go,  Philintus !  see  to  my  duties  i'  the  chapel, 
Whilst  I  a  king  receive  ! 

[Exit  Philintus. 

(Fanfare.  Enter  King  of  France,  Anselm, 
now  Archbishop  of  Paris,  Attendants, 
Courtiers,  Pages,  Priests,  etc.) 

King   of   France.     'Tis   a   monarch's   privilege 
and  glory 
To  seek  those  sons  of  fame  who  lend 
Honour  to  their  country.     Renowned  Abelard, 
Hither  have  we  come  to  tender  thee  our  thanks 
For  thy  learning's  services  to  France. 

Abelard  (with  an  obeisance  and  covert  sarcasm). 
Happy  is  that  country  whose  king 
Looks  to  his  people's  welfare  !     Whom  justice, 
And  not  party  spirit,  sways  ;  whose  mind 
Doth  scorn  the   fickle  tongue    of    flatterers  and 

rises 
Eagle-like  to  heav'n  for  the  truth  of  things, 
Which  he  ne'er  can  hear  from  courtiers. 
From  such  a  king  judges  will  take  pattern 
And  mould  their  canker'd  hearts  to  his, 
So  ne'er  wrongful  or  unjust  sentence  be 
Passed  upon  the  innocent. 

K.  of  France,     Fain  would  we  reward  thee^'^for 
thy  work ; 
Therefore,  learned  Abelard,  we  charge  thee 
To  speak,  and  tell  us  thy  desire. 


148  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Abelard.     My  desire  is  every  man's,  my  liege  ; 
I  ask  for  justice.     'Tis  all,  and  yet  therein 
I  feel  I  ask  for  more  than  is  on  earth. 

K.  of  France.     Think'st  thou  there  is  no  justice  ? 

Abelard.     It  doth  exist — in  dreams  ! 

K.  of  France.    Thou  speak'st  as  one  embitter'd. 

Abelard.     When  Fate  pour'd  out   my  cup   of 
life,  my  liege, 
She  did  forget  to  sweeten  it.     Or,  mayhap, 
She  poured  my  share  into  another's. 
Who  now  two  portions  hath. 

K.  of  France.     Give  words  to  thy  complaint. 

Abelard.     Let  me  recall  into  your  thoughts,  my 
hege, 
A  story  of  the  Holy  Writ  the  prophet  Nathan 
Did  tell  unto  King  David,  and  'tis  this. 
Once  there  liv'd  two  men — one  rich,  one  poor ; 
The  rich  man  had  exceeding  flocks  and  herds. 
The  poor  man  but  one  ewe  lamb. 
A  puny  thing  it  was,  but  greatly  cherish'd. 
As  they  who  little  have  alone  can  love. 
But  lo  !  there  came  a  traveller  one  day. 
And  the  rich  man  took  not  of  his  flock, 
But  slew  the  poor  man's  one  ewe  lamb, 
And  left  him  desolate. 

K.  of  France.     I  answer  as  King  David  did : 
He  who  did  this  thing  shall  die ! 
Thou  speak'st  in  parables  ;   unfold  thyself  ! 
Who  is  he  that  wrong' d  thee  ? 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  149 

Abelard  (pointing  to  Anselm,  who  in  the  parable 
has  recognised  himself  as  the  rich  maUy  and 
shrinks   before   the   accusing  eye  and  voice 
of  Abelard).     There   stands   the   whited 
sepulchre  : 
So  mild  to  outward  view,  so  full  of  hate  within  ! 
Full  fifteen  years  gone  by,  by  methods  devilish 
He  me  part'd  from  my  love. 

K.  of  France.     Alas  !  I  do  remember  well  that 
sad  and  woeful  tale 
Of  two  who  lov*d  so  true  and  tenderly. 
Did  Anselm  work  this  cruel  thing  ? 
(To  Anselm)  My  Lord  Archbishop,  answer  to  this 
charge  ! 
Abelard.     What  matter  his  words  when  guilt 
Is  writ  upon  his  mien  and  countenance  ? 

K.    of  France   (to   Anselm).     What   the  King 
hath  giv'n,  the  King  can  take  away. 
We  shrive  thee  of  all  honours,  tho'  the  pain 
Of  just  remorse  belongs  to  Higher  Hands ; 
'Tis  the  lightning  power  beyond  the  commands 
Of  earthly  potentates. 

Anselm.       O  woe !      Guilt's      punishment      is 
doubled 
When  it  falleth  on  old  age.     Misfortune's  mael- 
strom 
Sucks  us  down,  and  vigour  being  gone, 
We  have  no  pow'r  left  wherewith  to  wrestle  ! 

[Exit. 


150  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

K.  of  France.     Art  thou  satisfied  now  ? 
Abelard.     Can  sated  vengeance  sorrow  heal  ? 
Or  present  smiHng  fortune  hide  the  scars 
Of  suffering  past  ? 

K.  of  France.     Nor  Heav'n's  King  himself  can 
make 
That  which  has  been  ne'er  to  have  happ'd. 
Take  heart  of  grace,  great  Abelard  ;    the  highest 

honours 
Are  in  store  for  thee. 

Abelard.     Honours  that  are  thrust  on  age 
Come    too   late,   my   liege.     What  is   a   marble 

tomb 
To  the  dead  heart  beneath  that  crav'd 
In  life  sweet  human  love  and  fame  ? 
K.  of  France  (excusatively).     So  much  thou  hast 
assailed  been, 
That  all  thy  bright  ability  avail'd  not 
In  the  balance  'gainst  thy  defects  reputed. 
Tardy  recognition  is  better  sure  than  none. 

Abelard.     Kings  are  nurtur'd  in  an  air  of  falsity, 
Like  hot-house   plants  that   know  not  heav'n's 

breath. 
Yet,  being  kings,  their  royalty  should  clear 
The  atmosphere  corrupt  that  doth  surround  them. 
'Tis  not  enough  to  be  a  king  :   a  king  should  be 

a  man; 
Not  heed  such  idle  lying  tales  that  sycophants 
Do  bring  him. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  151 

K.  of  France.     Dar'st  criticise  a  king  ? 
Abelard  {with  affected  humility).     Nay;  I  criti- 
cise but  that  which  men  make  of  him. 
Many  there  are  that  do  think  a  crown 
Brings  every  virtue  with  it.     Yet  Wisdom, 
Temperance,  Mercy,  StabiUty,  and  Truth 
Are  not  vain  baubles  which  monarchs  can 
Acquire    as   they    do   the  diadem   and   robes  of 

state. 
The  graces  of  the  heart  need  years  of  practice 
To  perfect  them,  my  hege.     So  it  be  e'er  said, 
The  head  the  crown  becomes,  not  the  crown  the 
head. 
K.  of  France.     Monks  are  shorn  of  manners  as 
they 
Are  of  hair. 

Abelard.     In  courts,  men's  honesty  from  their 
souls 
Is  shorn,  my  liege. 

K.  of  France.     Mannerless  priest !  one  word  of 
mine 
Could  level  thee  with  the  dust ! 

Abelard.     There  is  another  King  'fore  whom  all 
men 
Are  equal.     One  word  of  His,  my  liege, 
And  you  and  earth  would  chaos  be. 
Lesser  fears  are  e'er  by  the  greater  swallow'd ; 
Therefore,  with  greater  fear  upon  me, 
How  can  I  dread  the  wrath  of  temporal  power  ? 


152  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

K.  of  France.    Thy  priest's  robe  saves  thee 
from  mine  anger  ! 
Farewell,  proud  man  !  we  shall  not  meet  again. 

(Exit,  followed  hy  Attendants,  Priests,  Cour- 
tiers, etc.) 

Ahelard  {alone).    Will  a  king's  robe  save  him 
from  retribution 
For  his  many  deeds  of  cruelty  and  wrong  ? 
O  Guilt !  thou  art  more  damning  in  proportion 
To  the  offender's  rank  ! 

(Enter  Philintus.) 

Ahelard.     What  tidings,  Philintus  ? 

Philintus.     Alas  !  they  are  grievous. 

Ahelard.    All  tidings  are  ill  to  me  of  late. 
But  what  is  this  new  one  ?     Methought 
That  sorrow  had  no  shaft  that  she 
Had  not  against  me  sped. 

Philintus    {aside).     Unhappy    messenger    that 
I  am  ! 
More  hapless  than  the  story  to  be  told  ! 
(Aloud)    Dear    Abelard !    one   of   the    renown'd 

lights 
Of  our  Church  is  dead — extinguished  ! 

Ahelard.     Let    masses    be    said  for    the    soul 
depart'd. 
See  to  't  at  once !     But  stay,  who  was't  ? 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  153 

Philintus   (with  emotion  he  endeavours  to  sup- 
press).    An  abbess. 
Ahelard   (meditatingly).     Did  she  come  within 
my  jurisdiction  ? 

Death  is  a  cold  journey  we  all  must  take. 

Philintus    {aside).     Will    he    apply    that    chill 
philosophy 

To  his  own  affliction  ? 

(Aloud)  Thou    didst    know    her,    Abelard.     She 
was  thy  star 

For  good  and  evil  in  this  life — thy  Heloise  ! 
Ahelard  (after  a  pause,  in  which  he  appears 
stunned  with  horror  and  astonishment.  He 
speaks  in  a  voice  of  intense  emotion).  Dead, 
say'st  thou  ?  Then  say  no  masses  for 
her, 

But  let  us  pray  to  her  that  she  should  pray  for 
us. 

She,  the  fairest  angel  of  them  all  in  heav'n. 

Dead,  say'st  thou  ?    But  no,  I'll  not  believe  thee  ; 

'Tis  a  trick  to  lure  me  to  her.     Come  !  say  'twas 

A  falsehood  told  for  love,  and  I'll  forgive  thee ; 

Ay,  love  thee  more  for  teUing  it,  Philintus. 

Death  dare  not  claim  the  good  and  beautiful, 

And  leave  the  old  and  wicked  still  to  hve. 

The  grisly  shape  would  fear  to  touch  her, 

So  much  was  she  of  glowing  hfe  the  image. 

Philintus.      Alas !     would    that    I    had    died 
instead  ! 


154  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Ahelard.     My  friend  !  she  is  not  dead.     The 
stars  that  shoot 
Athwart  the  firmament  but  change  their  places ; 
So  she  hath  places  changed,  but  liveth  still 
Where  we  with  human  eyes  can  never  follow. 

Philintus.     Take  what  comfort  that  thou  canst 
of  grief ; 
Nature's  sweet  relief  it  is  to  sorrow  for  the  dead. 

Ahelard,     Of  what  disease  died  she  ? 

Philintus.     'Twas  said  of  a  broken  heart. 

A  belard.     But  when  my  eyes  did  last  behold  her^ 
She  seemed  well. 

Philintus.    The  Master  of  all  good  hath  said 
Appearances  lie  more  than  words. 

Ahelard.     I  kill'd  her  by  my  harshness, 
And  mask'd  the  blow  in  duty's  name 
To  make  it  less  severe. 

Philintus.     Reproach  not  thyself  ;    'twas  fated 
thus, 
And  mortal  hand  had  naught  to  do  with  it. 
Yet,  'tis  passing  strange  she  liv'd  so  long 
Without  thee,  and,  when  thou  cam'st,  to  die. 

Ahelard.     Prosperity   destroys   thousands,    but 
adversity 
Tens  of  thousands.     Her  life  hung  upon 
A  hope,  the  hope  to  be  with  me  once  more. 
Alas,  that  I  should  say  it !     And  when  I  cut. 
Like  Atropos,  the  slender  thread  that  held  her. 
She  fled  from  earth. 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  155 

Philmtus.     Life's  a  battle  !     She  is  at  peace. 
Be  thankful  that  her  wars  are  o'er. 
The   messenger   who    brought   these   tidings   did 

avow 
That  at  the  Paraclete  confusion  reigns  supreme, 
Like  a  braid'd  hive  when  the  queen  bee's  flown  ! 
A  helard.     Go  thou  unto  the  Convent  and  arrange 
All  fitting  obsequies  for  my  belov'd. 
Spare  not  state,  and  say  I'll  come  anon. 
Bid  them  clothe  her  form  in  vestments  sacred, 
Which  yet  will  be  more  holy  by  the  contact 
With  her  person  noble.     Let  white-stol'd  priests 
Prolonged  masses  'cite  beside  her  relics  cold. 
Since  it  is  the  custom ;  her  spirit 
Needs  no  such  help.     What  slaves  are  we  to  habit, 
That,  when  an  angel  lives  and  dies  amongst  us, 
We  needs  must  pray  for  her,  as  tho'  her  life 
Was  not  a  supplication  far  more  worth 
Than  empty  words  of  deedless  hypocrites. 

Philintus.     I  will  look  to  the  mournful  rites, 
As  thou  thyself  wouldst  do.  [^Exit, 

Ahelard  {alone).     Come,  Death  !  twin-brothei  of 

unlighten'd  Sorrow, 
And  be  my  night  of  rest !     Hold  forth  thine  icy 

hand. 
And  clasp  my  living  one  in  thine,  and  I  will  bless 

thee  ! 
Come,  sit  beside  me,  and  I  will  welcome  thee 
As  never  man  has  welcomed  friend  !     Be  my  guest. 


156  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

And  I  will  entertain  thee  like  a  king,  altho'  thy 

retinue 
Be  endless,  mute,  and  terrible  !     Then,  king-like, 

thou 
Must   ask  me  back  unto  thy  land,  and   I   will 

prove 
Thy  loyal  subject,  not  to  leave  thee  ever. 
O  God  !  that  what  we  pray  for  most  should  be 
Grant'd  in  the  least  degree  !    When  she  Uv'd, 
Duty  did  come  first ;  now,  she's  gone, 
Love's  recollection  bows  my  spirit  to  the  earth, 
And  duty  seems  but  mockery. 

{As  Abelard  soliloquises,  he  gradually  and  al- 
most imperceptibly  changes  from  the  cold- 
hearted  ascetic  priest  to  the  wild  dreamer.) 

How  strange  it  is  that,  ere  we  leave  the  world, 
There  comes  a  time  when  youth's  sweet  vernal 

days 
Flow  back  upon  the  mem'ry,  like  a  tide 
Upon    the    strand,    which    age    and    grief    have 

parch'd  ! 
Each  trivial  act  and  thought  is  magnified,  and 

assumes 
Aspect  so  portentous,  that  things  of  moment 
Oft  are  lost  within  them  !     I  recollect  Heloise 
Did  love  to  see  me  clad  in  gallant  garb. 
Not  cloth' d  in  this  dull  habit.     But  why  recall 
This  pretty  whim  ?     What  greater  grief  is  there 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  157 

Than  thoughts  of  pleasure  past  when  misery  is 

near  ? 
O  hell !   thou  hast  no  torture  like  to  mem'ry  ! 
4:  ♦  :>  4:  «  * 

There's  something  in  the  air.      'Tis  passing  warm  ; 
I'll  ope  the  casement,  and  let  the  wind  blow  in. 

(Abelard  opens  the  casement,  and  the  place, 
hitherto  dark,  is  suddenly  overspread  by  a 
flood  of  moonlight.  He  appears  to  change 
still  more,  as  he  passionately  apostrophises 
the  dead  Heloise  in  words  of  mingled  grief 
and  sadness.  His  old-time  self — the  ardour 
of  his  youthful  love — seems  to  rejuvenate 
him.) 

Where,  O  my  belov'd,  do  now  thy  footsteps  fall  ? 
Canst,  from  where  thou  art,  hear  my  plaintive 

caU? 
Oh  !  for  one  brief  hour  to  have  thee  back  once 

more, 
To  learn  that  there  is  meeting  when  mortal  hfe 

is  o'er  ! 
Now    Fancy — cruel    spirit ! — doth    the    passions 

rouse, 
Calling  voiceless  phantoms  from  her  charnel-house. 
They  wear  bright  living  colours,  hapless  man  to 

show 
Life's  elusive  joys — and  the  reality  of  woe. 


158  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

Hear,  O  my  belov'd !  each  chalic'd  flow'r  dear 
Lowly  hangs  her  head  and  drops  a  dewy  tear. 
The  song-birds  silent   brood,  the  hills  are   grey 

and  stern, 
Since  Heloise  has  gone,  and  never  must  return. 
Nature  rules  by  changes.     The  seasons  come  and 

go: 
Summer  deck'd  in  flowers.   Winter  wrapp'd   in 

snow. 
'Midst  the  world's  mutation  I  am  changeless  now, 
Since  sorrow  hath  with  wither'd  leaves  endiadem'd 

my  brow. 

(In  the  flood  of  the  moonlight  the  shade  of  Heloise 
is  seen  slowly  to  disclose  itself.) 

Heloise  !  thou  who  wert  the  sunshine  of  my  life, 
Which  without  thee  is  like  night. 
Take  me  hence  with  thee  ! 

4(  4:  *  *  H(  * 

Hear  me  !     Hear  me  ! 
Heloise,  my  belov'd  !     O  take  me  hence  ! 
And  in  that  space  of  blue  infinitude 
Let  us  together  be  !     Or  let  us  sleep 
Deep  and  dreamless  in  the  breast  of  earth ; 
I  care  not  which — so  that  I  am  with  thee. 
I  tortured  thee  in  life,  and  now  in  death 
Thou  rackest  me  with  fond  remembrance 
Of  sacrificed  love  !     Take  me  hence  ! 
'Twas  for  thee  alone  I  sought  renown  ! 


ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  159 

When  men  applaud'd,  I  did  think  of  thee 

And  how  my  fame  would  please  thee. 

Like  the  sun,  thou  shon'st  on  me  from  far, 

Knowing  not  that  thou  didst  generate 

My  better  self  unto  a  noble  ferment 

'Gainst  injustice  and  the  thousand  persecutions 

Which  e'er  beset  new  thought. 

****** 

Christ,  sweet  Christ  is  merciful ! 
None  did  yet  appeal  to  Him  in  vain. 
He  doth  grant  the  contrite  heart  its  peace, 
When  bniis'd  and  wound'd  in  life's  battle. 

(The  shade  of  Heloise  stretches  her  arms  towards 
Abelard.) 

I    may    come    then,    and    shall    not    be    divid'd 

more  ! 
Where  now  is  thy  sting,  O  Death  ?     Where,  Grave, 
Thy  victory  ? 

(As  the  entranced  and  deranged  Abelard  moves 
towards  the  shade  of  Heloise,  the  moon  is 
suddenly  obscured  hy  a  sombre  cloud  and 
wraps  the  scene  in  darkness.  Presently  the 
place  becomes  light  again,  this  time  from  the 
torches  of  Monks  who  enter,  preceded  by  Phil- 
INTUS.  With  an  ejaculation  of  horror  and 
despair,  the  latter  beholds  the  lifeless  form  of 
Abelard  on  the  ground,  and  sinks  beside  it 


i6o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

in  an  agony  of  grief.  The  Monks  kneel 
reverently  and  pray  for  the  departed  soul  of 
their  chief.  As  they  do  so,  the  peals  of  the 
organ  and  the  voices  of  the  choir  are  heard 
at  their  orisons,  chanting)  : — 

"  'Gainst  earthly  passions,  Jesu,  pray, 
Deliver  us  by  night  and  day ; 
Unlink  those  fearful  chains  that  hold 
Men  to  lust  and  thirst  of  gold. 

Miserere  Domine !  " 


THE  END 


PRINTED    BY    M'LAREN    AND    CO.,    LTD.,    EDINBURGH. 


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